Leech
by DoceoPercepto
Summary: One that preys on or clings to another; a parasite. -Gijinka. Kirby & Marx
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **The lovely cover art for this story is by warpy, a fellow fanfiction writer, troper, and avid stargazer. Thanks warpy :D Check out her other artwork as well!

Story is in GIJINKA, which means the characters are HUMAN. Stop asking.

**Leech**

Chapter 1

Everyone knew it was not safe to cross the borders of their peaceful town, for Dreamland housed the legendary Star Rod, which protected the villagers from the plague of nightmares and demons. However, its protection extended no further than their borders, and there was no knowing what might lay beyond their safe haven.

Some too curious children had questioned this law. They had looked out to the horizon, thinking to themselves that the outside world did not _appear_ so much different than their own home. Peaceful valleys, green forests, and clear blue skies were tempting, not threatening, and inspired curiosity rather than fear. They thought, surely it couldn't any more dangerous than their village, which looked so alike? But those children that left never did return home, and no one dared to venture after them.

Only one person truly knew of the outside world. He would have been bombarded with questions, had his aura not been half so intimidating. Dark clothes always shrouded his figure, and a deep purple cape was customarily wrapped around his body. Furthermore, the stranger never went anywhere without wearing his black shoulder armor or without his gleaming gold broadsword at his side. His face had never even been seen by any of the villagers, for a cold silver mask perpetually covered it, and only his slit-like yellowish eyes glinted through the V-cut. Those eyes had the chilling habit of glaring as though reading your soul and finding themselves displeased with the result.

His arrival happened sixteen years previous, when he stalked through the gates like an unholy storm, seemingly driven by some unknown destiny for a purpose beyond their knowledge. Had the villagers not been so awestruck and frightened by the bold entry of a stranger from the outside, they might have found it amusing to see such a dark character prowl up the streets with a small pink bundle clutched protectively in his arms. As it was, they could only stare and back away from his path as he advanced on the castle like a man possessed.

It would be days before the villagers learned of the circumstances that then transpired: the man entered the castle and demanded a position as a knight, which was promptly given to him: even the gluttonous king couldn't deny it would be much better to have such a figure as an ally rather than an enemy.

For sixteen years, he uttered not a word of the outside world. Few dared speak to him at all, and those that did rapidly learned it was a topic he preferred to ignore. Even the child he had brought with him remained frustratingly oblivious, until the very day that child, now a teenager, stood by the gates...

Stood by the Dreamland's gates, sword at his own side, and prepared to cross the border himself.

* * *

><p>A harsh cry rang through the hallways of the castle late that night, long after the sun fell but long before it would rise. When it sounded a second time, Fumu snapped awake. She sat up in bed, trying to rub the sleep from her green eyes. In the adjoining rooms, she could hear the unmistakeable shuffling of her family members getting up as well.<p>

Thankfully, there was no movement from the bed against the opposite wall. The only sign of her brother was the bluish green tips of his messy hair sticking out from a bundle of blankets. Good - he needn't lose any more sleep over this.

Fumu hurried over to her dresser and picked out a simple band to tie up her own long dirty blonde hair. No time for neatly combing it back, or even changing from her baggy pink pajamas - everyone else would be similarly dressed, anyway.

She quietly closed the door behind her and tiptoed to the living room, where both her parents were already waiting. They looked just as exhausted as she.

"Do you know who is it?" she implored, though she knew they wouldn't. The Cabinet Minister and Memu shook their heads in response, and all three slipped out into the castle hallway.

The unnatural, terrified shriek was not repeated, and they found themselves standing cluelessly in the dark hallway without any idea where it had originated.

"Oh, this is so worrisome," Memu stressed. "It could be anyone, and we don't know!"

Parm, meanwhile, made an effort to look both directions in the hopes that one would somehow give him a signal which way he should take. "I think it came from the left... or maybe it was the right..."

"We can't see anything this darkness. King Dedede does need to turn on some lights," said Memu anxiously.

"Hmm..." Fumu took a step forward, when two glowing golden eyes appeared with eerie abruptness in front of her. She yelped and jumped back. "Sir Meta Knight!"

"My apologies, Fumu-san," he replied smoothly. "I take it you heard the cry?"

"Yes, do you know-?"

"I suspect it is Captain Doo. Hurry; we must get there quickly." He spun on his heel and stalked down the hallway, cape fluttering after him.

Fumu hastened after him, knowing that if she fell behind he would not be likely to wait for her, and with the hallways so dark, she certainly didn't want to get lost.

She faithfully followed the sound of his footsteps and rippling cape, often checking to make sure her anxious parents were following along as well.

Dim light began to filter into the darkness as they approached a lit portion of the hallway - the servant's quarters. A new, hideously distorted scream rent the air. The chilling sound could be felt in one's bones, and made Fumu shudder as freshly as the first time she had heard it. The scream gradually tapered off to a choked whimper. Over their footsteps, Fumu could at last hear the panicked voices of the multitude of the servants.

They rounded another corner, and the scene opened up to them. Perhaps hundreds of the servants were gathered in the hallways, crowding into each other, whispering, and adding to the general chaos. By requirement, they all wore simple faded orange pajamas that were often too big for them. Packed so closely together, they made a sea of orange.

"Clear a path!" Meta Knight's deep voice commanded over the servants. They jumped and muttered, but recognizing the knight's voice, backed away without question. With their backs pressed tightly against the wall, it was an easier matter to push through them and enter Captain Doo's room.

Fumu skirted around Meta Knight to peer into the room. Meanwhile, her parents went about the business of calming the nervous servants in the hall.

The Captain himself lay in his bed, drenched in so much sweat that his dark brown hair was slicked to his forehead. Though his eyes were clenched shut, she could still see how rapidly they moved underneath his eyelids. Two faithful servants were at his side, trying to hold down his arms.

Their efforts were hardly successful, as he thrashed and moaned and fought their grips wildly. As if something wholly demonic and monstrous had taken command of his limbs, he expended all his energy to blindly fight off his own comrades.

Meta Knight swept up to his bedside, shooing the young servants away. Immediately Captain Doo let out another hideous, wrenching scream. The knight seized his shoulders and shook him roughly. "Captain! Captain, wake up!"

"Ah, don't hurt him," Fumu squeaked.

Teeth clenched, Doo blindly clenched his fingers around Meta Knight's wrists and dug his nails in deep.

Only by twisting his wrists could Meta Knight free himself, and then Captain Doo clawed at the air like a possessed animal.

Meta Knight drew back, glaring at the amassed servants with his fierce golden eyes. "Bring me a bucket of water."

A few made small 'eep!" noises and scurried around in the room cluelessly before Meta Knight demanded, "Now!"

They bolted from the room. It was all Meta Knight could do to hold down Captain Doo while they waited for water. Several times Meta Knight made attempts to wake up the captain, between calling out to him and shaking his shoulders. Nothing was successful.

After what seemed like hours, but truly only had been a minute or two, the servant rushed back in again. In his hands was a metal bucket so full of water that some had splashed down his front.

Meta Knight immediately seized the bucket and threw the water over the captain's face. It soaked his bedspread, clothes, and hair. For a single moment, those in the room thought that it had worked. His desperate thrashing stilled as his mind retreated from the nightmare. Yet still, it was unwilling to release him from its clutches.

His tense muscles never relaxed, and his eyes never opened. His teeth were clenched, and his body trembled uncontrollably. His face possessed the pallor of death. Their fear only mounted upon realizing he would not wake.

Then Meta Knight growled under his breath. He raised one white-gloved hand brought it sharply across Captain Doo's cheek, causing most of the other servants to jump in astonishment.

The captain's startled caramel-colored eyes at last snapped open. Like a marionette had released his bindings, Doo relaxed and lowered his hands. Slowly, he looked around the room and observed those watching him, quickly putting together the scene. Breathing out in relief and exhaustion, he leaned against the headboard. Color swiftly returned to his pale cheeks.

"Is there any chance you can remember what it was you were dreaming about?" Meta Knight pressed immediately, studying Doo with an inhuman intensity.

"A nightmare," Doo corrected, his voice hoarse from screaming. "Not a dream."

Instantly, a fellow servant drew close to him and muttered under his breath to his captain. Fumu watched this exchange with great curiosity, for despite the fact she lived in the castle, she still knew very little about the servants' enigmatic ways. They were short, pale and thin, always with large caramel eyes and messy hair. Their matching clothes made it impossible to tell them apart, and they never spoke English. Communicating solely with their leader, one never knew exactly what they were thinking or saying.

Captain Doo, however, understood the others' speech without a problem. In response to the servant, he nodded and smiled gratefully. "Y-yes, please."

The servant nodded and darted out of the room, brushing past Fumu without a side glance.

"A nightmare, then," Meta Knight corrected.

"Of my comrades," Captain Doo confessed. "It was my duty to protect them from some unknown danger, but..." he shuddered again.

"If it is any assurance, I know you would never fail them in life."

Another servant - or perhaps the same, Fumu couldn't tell - swept past her again, holding a cup of water. They had an unnatural ability to be extraordinarily quick when ordered by Doo. He carried it to Captain Doo's side and offered it.

"Ah, thank you." Doo accepted the cup and drank like a man dying of thirst. He handed it back empty, and the servant rushed off to fill it again. His eyes curved up to Meta Knight. "And thank you, sir. I owe my life to you."

Meta Knight gave a small nod and withdrew from the other's bedside, allowing the other servants to crowd up again and express worry for their leader. He slipped to the back of the room.

"This is the third this week," Fumu uttered. It had started a few months ago - around midnight, a villager had screamed out as though tortured. When others tried to wake them, the villager remained trapped in their nightmare. It was growing increasingly difficult to wake the sleepers, and the occurrences were becoming more and more frequent. Those that suffered from the nightmares recollected themselves reliving whatever they were most afraid of.

"Something must be done," replied Meta Knight calmly, though his appearance should've suggested the opposite. Though he had clearly changed into his usual outfit before coming, the left shoulder plate was slightly crooked. His black hair, usually immaculately knotted back, was now falling loosely over his mask and sticking up in various places. The dark tips just barely brushed over the slit in his mask. His cape hung down in a tired manner, matching his somewhat slumped shoulders - though as soon as Fumu thought this, she dismissed the thought. It was just a cape, and couldn't reflect his own tiredness.

"But what can we do?" said Fumu.

Meta Knight didn't reply immediately, appearing lost in thought. These pauses were something Fumu had grown used to - if he didn't immediately have a sufficient answer, he tended to not reply at all until one was found. She fiddled with the tips of her hair impatiently. "I just wish we knew what was causing these nightmares."

"Hm."

Fumu eyed him thoughtfully. "Unless... you have some idea?"

His regard flicked to the room behind him. The servants were still occupied over their leader - others were far too distracted to be noticing their conversation. In the hall, Memu and Parm were guiding more servants back to their rooms. His cleared his throat and murmured, "I believe the protection Dreamland has grown to rely upon is faltering. The Star Rod is not keeping us safe from the nightmares."

Horror overtook Fumu's expression. "The Star Rod isn't working anymore?"

"It still works - but for how long, I cannot say. Until we find out more about the source of this change, we need to delay the effects for as long as possible."

He had perhaps just said the most frightening thing Fumu had ever heard, for she had grown up knowing the same rule as the other children - the Star Rod kept them safe and alive, so long as you stayed within the borders. Yet he delivered the news in much the same way he would order at Kawaski's restaurant.

Though shocked, she felt foolish 'overreacting' in front of him like she wanted to. Instead, she tried to imitate his nonchalant attitude. "Y-you're right. So, what will we do?"

"Have you ever heard of the plant Narcao?"

"I've come across that in a book before... Isn't that some kind of medicine for sleeping?"

"Yes; the crushed leaves of a Narcao plant, if ingested, will bring a long, dreamless sleep. It may be exactly what we need."

"It's not native to Dreamland, though... Doctor Yabui might have some, but I doubt it would be enough."

Meta Knight looked surprised - or at least, as much as the knight was capable of looking surprised. "There should be no problem in getting it. I will send Kirby to retrieve a sufficient supply from beyond Dreamland's borders."


	2. Chapter 2

****A/N: ****_The fictional Narcao plant is a narcotic whose _appearance_ is based off the Sacred Datura flower, for those of you wondering what it looks like._

**Leech**

Chapter 2

"You are _not!_"

"I am."

"Augh!" Fumu let out a frustrated shout. "No! I'm not letting you!"

The two were currently making a very brisk pace down the main street of Dreamland, Meta Knight obstinately leading and striding much faster than a man of his relatively short height ought to be able to do. Oh, and it was _in the middle of the night._

Because evidently Meta Knight thought it was a great idea to go wake Kirby and inform him that he would be leaving Dreamland to retrieve the plant Narcao. Fumu, by the way, agreed with _none_ of this aforementioned plan.

"I do not require your permission to send out my student."

"You do if you're sending him to his death!"

"He can handle himself for such a short time."

"Errrrr, why do you have to be so stubborn!" she exclaimed, stomping furiously after him.

"You cannot deny that someone needs to go - who would be better than Kirby?"

"Oh, I don't know - YOU? You're his mentor!"

"Perhaps, but he could use this experience for practice."

_"Practice?"_

"Should he run across trouble, he can use those new sword techniques I taught him yesterday."

Fumu ground her teeth together. He was surely the most insufferable, stubborn person she had ever met. And to be sending Kirby out of the borders! It was a death sentence for sure. How did she not see something like this coming! Meta Knight always seemed to be testing him beyond his abilities. Sure, he was sixteen - two years older than she - but she always felt sort of motherly to him. He acted much younger than his age and was so prone to accidents.

"You are not," she repeated sternly.

"I am."

"Not."

"..."

"Please, Sir Meta Knight! No one's even taken a step past the borders since y-"

He stopped in place and turned around so abruptly that Fumu nearly ran into him. She was so close that the wind blew his cape chillingly around her ankles. He leaned down, yellow eyes boring into her soul. His words were cold as ice. "Precisely, Fumu-san. Since _I_ crossed the borders sixteen years ago. Need I remind you that I know more of the outside than any single person in your town?"

His withering stare rooted her in place. The only reply she managed was a small, '_Oh._'

Meta Knight spun on his heel and stormed off towards Kirby's house again.

Fumu didn't know whether she should follow or not - for Kirby's sake, she wanted to, but she didn't want Meta Knight to be angry with her. Soon he disappeared in the darkness of the night.

She remained in the middle of the street, small and lonesome. Her feet were freezing from the cobblestones, and her thin pajamas were not warm enough to guard against the chilly, sighing wind.

She should just go back. Go home and pray for the best. But Fumu was not a person to give up. She would match Meta Knight's stubbornness step for step. Determination resurrected itself; she stalked onward. Kirby was _not _going to cross the border.

Now, Fumu was perhaps the only person who dared to argue with Meta Knight in the first place, but she knew he had his limits. Once you hit one of those limits, you needed to back off. She'd been lucky enough to figure this out quickly, before his anger could truly be directed at her. Never before had a situation arisen where she wanted to push him past that point.

Even now, she couldn't bring herself to pursue their fight directly. Beyond being the most intimidating person in Dreamland, Meta Knight was also a very intelligent being. Fumu appreciated their conversations and treated their fragile friendship - if you could even call it that - like thin ice.

So rather than an outright confrontation, Fumu slipped quietly around the back of Kirby's house. It was quite a strange thing, as houses go. The villagers had built it for him as soon as he was old enough to move out of the castle - only about two years ago. They'd been happy to help the friendly and outgoing teen, and rapidly built a hemispherical house. Yes - Kirby's house looked like half a circle, and was painted a simple white color. The interior was pretty much as simple as the outside: it consisted of only two rooms. The smaller room was his bathroom. The larger had his bed and a large TV hung up on the wall (it had been hellish getting the TV to stay in place with the round wall).

Though Fumu had been disappointed about the simplicity and size of the house, Kirby had been ecstatic over it and moved in immediately. The size never seemed to bother him, as he spent most of his time outside or at the castle anyway.

Now Fumu took advantage of the window above his bed to peer into the room. Meta Knight stood at the far wall, likely speaking to Kirby although it was impossible to tell with his mask. Kirby, meanwhile, sat on his bed, facing away from Fumu. She could only see the back of his baggy star-covered pajamas and his messy blonde hair. One particular lock of hair stuck straight up from his head, which would have made her laugh if the situation hadn't been so serious.

It was impossible to tell what they were talking about - she could only hear muffled words, sometimes in Meta Knight's low tones, sometimes in Kirby's higher ones.

Abruptly Meta Knight looked up, seeing Fumu through the window. He didn't seem surprised at all, but gestured for her to enter the house.

Sighing, she circled around and entered his house. She slunk through the door, trying to gauge if Meta Knight was upset or not. He didn't seem angry anymore, but she couldn't be sure. Oblivious to their tension, Kirby smiled at her. "Hi Fumu! Oh... is something wrong? You didn't have a nightmare too, did you?"

"No," Meta Knight answered for her. "She dislikes the idea I've suggested."

"He told you what he wants you to do, right?" she said quietly.

"Sure," Kirby replied. Contrary to her feelings, he was ecstatic about the idea. It seemed to shove away the sleepy attitude Kirby would usually have if you tried to wake him so early in the morning. "Why don't you like the idea? We have to help the villagers somehow."

"Because it's unfair," Fumu complained. "You shouldn't have to do it - since he knows so much about the outside world, and doesn't feel like sharing it, he should go."

She could feel Meta Knight's eyes drilling into her, but refused to look over at him. She was just making her opinion clear, not trying to pick a fight. Well, maybe a little, but at the same time just wanted Kirby to stay home. Meta Knight never should've suggested this.

"It's okay," Kirby hurriedly tried to remedy, "I want to go anyway. Don't you think that'll be really neat? I've always wondered what's out there..."

"Demons, that's what is out there! Kirby, there's a _reason_ we never leave!"

"I can fight, though. I can bring my sword with me, so even if I do run across any trouble, I'll be able to protect myself."

Fumu's voice trembled. "But... what if you can't?"

Kirby looked alarmed. "I can!" he hurriedly tried to assure her. "Promise, Fumu, I'll come before nightfall with all the Nar... Narkuho plants I need!"

When she still looked doubtful, he jumped up from the bed and hugged her tightly. "You know I never break a promise."

Ever the awkward one, Meta Knight interrupted them by saying in a completely dead-pan voice, "You should leave at sunrise, Kirby. Prepare your things now, then you will be ready when you need be."

Kirby nodded. "Got it. And the plants...?"

"Look for the distinctive white petals that curl at the edges like I told you; those will confirm it is a Narcao plant. Remember, it is the leaves we need."

"I can't believe you're actually letting him go," Fumu protested quietly.

"Fumu-san..."

Fumu ignored him, turned, and stalked out the door. She considered the crisis with him at the moment averted, but wasn't sure if she could stay there any longer without lashing out at him. Talking to him was simply not an option until Kirby returned that same day, unscathed.

* * *

><p>As usual, Kirby did exactly as Meta Knight told him and set about preparing for his trip. He slipped on a pink T-shirt (which had the really good new laundry smell) and a pair of jeans. He then attached his sheath and silver short-sword, and dagger to his belt. Meta Knight had never said anything about bringing a lunch, but Kirby decided he should get something to eat as well (one never knows when they will need food). Though he was quite an accomplished cook himself, he ended up going to the castle kitchens to check on Captain Doo and get a sandwich or two. Or three. Possibly four.<p>

Technically, King Dedede didn't allow him in the kitchens, but the servants liked him over the king and enjoyed his visits.

In fact, Kirby had trouble getting back to his house quickly that morning. The servants greeted him with many platters of food and hopeful eyes. He'd had to disappoint them by saying he only needed a lunch to bring with him. Their saddened faces as Kirby left made him feel guilty and upset, but he vowed to return later. After all, they loved to make him tons of food that he was equally happy to eat, and they often marveled over the amount of food he could consume and yet never gain weight. King Dedede was quite the opposite, so one with a metabolism of Kirby's was impressive to them, no matter how many times they'd seen him eat.

With five sandwiches crammed into a paper bag, he left the castle right as the first rays of sunlight were beginning to peek above the distant hills. As he headed towards the gate, Fumu came up to him. She tried unsuccessfully to convince him not to go, then worried over him a bit before he could finally continue.

At last he reached the gate, and hesitated. For all his life he'd believed the gate was something completely forbidden. Not that he hadn't been curious, but his curiosity had never been so great as to test that which was forbidden.

Very very cautiously he stepped through the gate. Every sense alert, sword at the ready. Any moment something could leap out at him. Demons prowled around the town relentlessly, clawed and leathery, with enormous teeth and glowing red eyes.

Of course, none of the villagers had ever seen one, but it was common knowledge that the Star Rod kept them from seeing the hideous creatures held at bay. Kirby expected, the moment he stepped across, one such demon would attack him on the spot.

He was disappointed in this aspect. Not a single demon could be seen. Though, he chided himself, they could be invisible. Perhaps they were only disguising themselves; lying in wait until he fell into their trap. Well, Kirby was wiser than to do such a thing. He proceeded forward carefully. He would be ready for any attack.

In this manner, he slowly headed for the forest. Meta Knight had told him that was where the Narcao plants grew in great bunches. Traversing through the trees would certainly be dangerous - imagine the horrible monsters that might try to drop down on him from the branches! - but Kirby knew he had to continue. If this job wasn't successful, then the villagers would never be able to have dreamless sleep. They would continue to suffer from the nightmares.

But the further he went, the more and more strange he began to feel. Something must be wrong. The outside world had a bright, sunny sky and sweet smelling grass. Light green ivy and bushes grew around the trunks of tall, healthy trees. Small forest critters and birds occasionally chirped playfully to each other.

For all appearances, it was the same as Dreamland. This revelation was very disturbing. Were the worst of its secrets concealed beneath all the peacefulness?

The sun climbed slowly higher in the sky, and still he had yet to run across any hostile beasts. Kirby had long since sheathed his sword and taken out his much lighter dagger, which he held loosely in his hand. Despite Meta Knight's strict warnings to always be alert, he began to relax. There was simply nothing to fight - not a single demon in sight. For a little while, he had the unnerving sensation of being watched. However, this eventually left him, and he dismissed it as his imagination.

The sun was nearly at its height when Kirby at last found the first Narcao plant. Its pure white petals stuck out from all the green, curled in that distinctive way Meta Knight had described. It was a single blossom. He spotted a few more flocked nearby and followed the trail, using his dagger to mark trees along the way so as to find his path back.

The clusters grew thicker and thicker, until at last a clearing opened up before him. The entire clearing was a very blanket of white. Its ground could not even be seen by the layers of Narcao flowers, soft petals lightly curled back and glowing a healthy pearly color in the sunlight.

But it was not the sight of the flowers that halted Kirby's steps. He stopped in shock because he spotted the other figure standing in the clearing. This person was facing away from him, making it difficult to determine his features.

Kirby could only tell he was tall; though, part of this impression may have come from his unusual clothes, which were too small for him. His shirt was two different colors, maroon and purple, which slightly clashed with his maroon and blue jester hat. The sleeves didn't quite reach his thin wrists. The cloth was also patched in several different places, sometimes with bits of fabric that didn't match its original color or pattern. His pants, meanwhile, were unusually baggy and of a vibrant purple.

The stranger seemed wholly focused on some task in front of him, his head bowed over his hands, and it was impossible to tell what he was doing.

Kirby stayed in place, wondering if he should stay or leave. They obviously were not a demon, but nevertheless were very strange. He'd never seen this person around Dreamland before, which was odd in itself. And if they were from Dreamland, why had they crossed the border?

He was about to step forward and warn the stranger that it was dangerous to be outside of the border, when he turned around.

Dark purple eyes, wickedly narrowed, immediately latched upon Kirby. Black hair stuck out awkwardly from under his lopsided jester hat, and Kirby was surprised to find this stranger's hair was tipped with a vibrant purple. A very cruel smile was fixed on his sharp, lean face. Kirby realized with a jolt that he also had fangs jutting from his thin lips.

"If it isn't the famous hero of Dreamland, Kirby," the stranger jeered. Kirby's hand unconsciously slipped to the hilt of his sword. He liked to accept everyone. He wanted to think he was merely judging too quickly. But instinct told him very differently.

And how did this person know his name? Kirby resolved to be polite. For all he knew, he could simply be misunderstanding the stranger.

"Hi. It's nice to meet you too. What's your name?"

He flat out ignored the question and twirled the Narcao flower that was between his fingers thoughtfully. "I don't think I get you, Kirby. Why do they call you the hero of Dreamland? You haven't done anything heroic."

"Not really," Kirby admitted. "The villagers just started calling me that because I like to help them out if they ever need it. I try to always have time for their problems, and the title stuck." Suddenly remembering his purpose there, Kirby paused. "That's actually what I'm doing right now: I need to collect Narcao plants so the villagers can sleep without nightmares. Do you mind if I start picking them while we talk?"

"Not at all." The stranger offered his own flower between his fingers, once again grinning in that eerie way of his. It was only then that Kirby noticed its stalk had been carefully knotted over itself several times. That was what he had been doing before Kirby arrived.

"Um, thank you." Kirby nervously accepted the flower before scooting off to the side and beginning to pluck more of the stalks. He didn't want to be rude by essentially ignoring the other in this way, but Meta Knight had urged him to return as quickly as possible. "So, you never did tell me your name?"

"It's Marx," he replied, following Kirby as he slowly made his way across the field.

"Oh, nice to meet you Marx. But don't you know it's not safe to cross the borders? Aren't you worried something might happen to you? I mean, you don't even have a weapon to protect yourself."

"Yes I do."

"That's good then. I guess I just didn't see it before. Still... why are you here? Not that I don't enjoy the company, but it's dangerous." Kirby's attention was suddenly brought back to the task at hand when he realized he couldn't carry any more Narcao plants. He held a thick bundle in his left hand, but would surely need more than that. Though, maybe Marx could help him carry more. Happy to have so quickly found a solution, he turned around, "Hey, Marx, will you-"

he cut off, gasping. Balancing on Marx's outstretched palm was _Kirby's _short-sword. His attention was wholly focused on the sharp tip that wavered at least a foot above his head. Upon hearing Kirby, he smirked and allowed his gaze to drop down. Without his focus, the tip began to wobble.

"Watch out!" Kirby cried, dropping the flowers in panic. Just as the lethal sword swung down, Marx yanked his palm back and rapidly caught the hilt with his other hand.

Kirby breathed out in relief. "Oh jeez, don't do that again." He held out his hand, expecting Marx to give it back after demonstrating his 'trick.' After all, he didn't feel wholly comfortable without the protection of the weapon.

Marx downright ignored the gesture and winked. He took a step back. His eyes had a searching look about them, gauging Kirby's reaction.

"Can I please have it back now?" he asked in a nervous, quiet voice. He didn't like Marx's mocking grin. Not one bit.

"Hmm... newp!" Marx cackled and hid the sword mischievously behind his back.

"N-no?"

"If you want it, come and get it."

"Wh-what? I need that! Give it back!" He lunged after Marx and tried to reach around his back to get the sword.

"Newp!" Marx danced away.

"It's mine!" Kirby managed to grab a fistful of his shirt and used his other hand to reach the sword. His fingers just touched the hilt, when Marx craftily flipped it around. He twisted out of Kirby's grip and swiped the silver edge near his face.

Gasping, Kirby reeled away and touched his cheek lightly. He could've sword the tip had oh so lightly brushed against his skin, but he couldn't feel any blood. "Y-you almost cut me!"

"...Oops?"

"Come on," Kirby demanded. "I have to be back before sundown, and I need my sword."

"Isn't this _your_ fault for not paying enough attention?"

Kirby gaped. Oh no - what if Meta Knight found out his sword had been taken? He would be furious. Never again would he trust Kirby to do something like this again, especially because paying attention to your surroundings was one of the very first things he'd taught Kirby. One must always be alert and aware.

"You're right," he moaned, "_Please_ give it back! Meta Knight'll kill me if I come back without it. There's no way he wouldn't figure out that I messed up."

"Meta Knight?" Some of Marx's humor was replaced by a mild curiosity.

"He's my mentor, and he teaches me how to fight. One of his first lessons was to always be aware of my surroundings, and I know he'd be really disappointed with me if he knew I let someone take it." Kirby shifted on his feet anxiously. "I was really hoping to make him proud this time."

"Hmm... well, I _suppose_ I should give it back to you then."

"Would you?"

Marx took the sword from behind his back and traced his finger tips absentmindedly over the sharp edge. "I couldn't let you get in trouble because of me."

"Oh, thank you," Kirby said in relief, relaxing.

"I'm glad to help." He twirled the sword in his hands and made no move to hand it over.

"Um... can you give it to me?"

"Sure!" Still Marx did not hold it out, but he was smiling in such a disarming way that Kirby guessed he simply wanted him to take it himself. He only wished that smile didn't have such large fangs. He walked forward and grasped the top of the hilt. For one short moment, he imagined Marx would yank the sword back, but then he released it willingly.

Smiling, Kirby sheathed the sword and stepped back. "Thanks again." He glanced at the pile of Narcao plants warily. He certainly wouldn't want to impose upon Marx, but there was no way he could carry a sufficient amount alone. "Marx, can I ask just one more favor of you?"

"Mm?"

"I don't think I can carry all of the plants I need by myself. It wouldn't be too much of a bother if..."

"Not at all," he replied. "I'll help you carry them back."

"Ah, thank you!" Kirby handed over his handful of flowers and hurriedly returned to picking more.

"Mm. So, what did you say you need these for?"

"The villagers. Lately, people have been waking up more and more often because of these terrible nightmares. We don't know what's causing them... Until we find a true solution, Meta Knight suggested that I get these flowers. Did you know that crushing and eating the leaves will cause you to sleep, free of any kind of dream?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Well, that's why we need them. If we don't dream, we won't have nightmares."

An awkward silence fell between them. Kirby was uncomfortably aware of Marx's eyes following him across the field.

"Where is your house?" Kirby asked to fill the silence. It was something that had been bothering him since he first saw the other. "I thought I knew all the villagers, but I don't think I've ever met you."

"You haven't. I live in that small house, the one right on the border."

"The white one?" Kirby said with a frown. He'd seen it before, of course, but he hadn't thought anyone actually _lived_ in that place. Firstly, it was far too close to the border for most people's comfort (a few even claimed it was across the border). Secondly, its facade was cracked and peeling, and practically buried in ivy-throttled rose bushes. Most of the windows that were visible beneath the bushes were broken, and though Kirby only saw it in passing, he didn't think the lights were ever on. "You... live there?"

"Yep! Home sweet home. But I spend most of my time out here anyway."

"Out here? As in... you've been across the borders before this?"

Marx smirked. "It's not as scary as those villagers like to believe."

"But it is," Kirby protested. "There's demons, and monsters, and horrible nightmares..." he trailed off. "Well, usually there is. This seems to be a good day."

"Does it now?"

"Um... I would say so..." Kirby paused, glancing questioningly back at Marx. "At least, I think so..."

"Ahh, you don't really know," he nodded.

"... I haven't ever been out here before."

"Of course you haven't; I would have run across you sooner. Next time say something I don't already know. So! What do you think of all these demons, eh?"

"I haven't actually run across any demons," Kirby admitted.

"Fancy that."

By now Kirby's attention was fully captured. He'd never imagined that someone else had been across the borders aside from Meta Knight sixteen years previous. To think, all along Marx had been traversing back and forth as easily as breathing! Temporarily forgetting about the task at hand, he straightened up. "Have you?"

"Met any demons?"

"Yeah."

Marx tapped his lips with his finger thoughtfully. "Hm... maybe. Maybe not."

"Wouldn't you know if you had?"

"Wouldn't you?"

"I - yes... wait what?"

Marx laughed, an unnaturally high-pitched sound, and didn't reply.

"Um... so you must know a lot about the outside world? We should hang out after we give the villagers the Narcao plants! That way you can tell me more about what it's like and..." he trailed off. Marx didn't seem at all enthusiastic about his idea, as his brow furrowed and his gaze adopted an icy tinge. "O-or not," he hurriedly remedied, not wanting to make anyone feel unhappy. "It's fine if you don't w-"

"Oh no," Marx interrupted, "That sounds _perfect."_


	3. Chapter 3

**Leech**

Chapter 3

"I'm so surprised you're not friends with any of the villagers. I promise you, they're great people, you just gotta give them a chance."

"They're only followers," Marx replied disinterestedly. Just as the sun had passed its height the two had gathered enough Narcao and begun to head back to Dreamland. Kirby had long since gotten over his nervousness and Marx realized just how talkative he could be: the blonde hadn't shut up since they'd left.

"Followers...? I guess so, but I'm good friends with all of them. It's not fair to say that about them in that kind of tone, when you don't even know them. Oh! You need to meet Fumu too!" Kirby exclaimed.

Marx sniggered. "Nice name."

"It fits her, because she's very nice as well - she's a little younger than me, actually, but heh... I do tend to act younger than my age, while she's very mature: you'd be surprised at how much she knows from reading books. She lives at the castle, which'll be our last stop... would you be okay with staying that long so you can meet her?"

"That long?" Marx pulled a face. "How long is this gunna take?"

"Well... we do have to go everyone's houses, but only a few minutes. Unless you have somewhere else to be?" Kirby looked over at the other teen worriedly. Marx rolled his eyes.

"I can't spend _all_ day helping you... Do you think I have nothing better to do?"

"Oh..."

"Hm, but I also don't have to go back home yet, because you did let me have some of your lunch, and I'm not so hungry anymore..."

"Some?" Kirby repeated sadly. Out of politeness, Kirby had given Marx one of his sandwiches, only to realize that he seemed to have an appetite rivaling his own. By the end, he'd eaten three of his sandwiches while Kirby continued to get flowers, and Kirby had only gotten two. However, it was a small price for Marx's assistance.

Marx smiled in a disconcerting way. "Yes, I'll meet this Fumu."

"Oh, good," Kirby said happily.

At last they passed through the gate of Dreamland. The very first house was several yards from the gate, and Kirby knew an old grey-haired widow lived there. She didn't have any children, and technically lived alone, but people in the town were never really alone. Being such a close-knit community, everyone was willing to help everyone else, and often people dropped by her house to visit.

It was mere chance that when Kirby knocked, she was the only one there. She opened the door and her wrinkly face broke out into a smile.

"Hello Ki-" The color drained from her face, smile dropping with unbelievable rapidity. Abruptly, she grabbed Kirby and dragged him into the house with a strength he wouldn't have believed of such an old lady before slamming the door.

"Hey, what was that for?" protested Kirby.

"I had to get you away from _that_." She rushed around her house, locking the doors and windows with a frantic countenance. The blonde could only watch in complete bewilderment. Once she was finished, she swept back up to him and clutched his shoulders in petrified anxiety. "It's okay," she breathed, "You're safe now, stay here as long as you like, at the very least until he leaves."

"Who, Marx?"

"No, that monster in the jester hat." She peered between the blindfolds. "Ahh, he's still there!" She shrank back.

"Don't call him a monster," Kirby argued, "His name is Marx, and he's my friend."

"_F-f-friend?_" Horrified, she turned back to Kirby. "Then... you don't know?"

"Know what?"

Her next words were a whisper, "Kirby... _he lives on the border." _

"Yeah, he told me that..."

She gaped. "You poor boy... he's tricked you, hasn't he? He's been _infected_ by the outside; it's messed with his mind!"

"Nuh uh, he's very nice, and he was helping give out the Narcao plants. It's rude to shut him out like this." He tried to unlock the door, but she angrily slapped away his hands and stood stubbornly in front of it.

"If you open the door, he might come in!"

"He's harmless!"

"He's a monster; a demon!"

Her assurance worried Kirby. "How do you know? Has he done anything?"

"Yes! ... Well, no, not really," she admitted. "But he _never_ comes into town, and he lives all alone in that house of his... It isn't normal, to shun good people and society like that."

"I didn't even know about him until now," Kirby admitted. "Why hasn't anyone told me?"

"Most people don't like to talk about him; it makes us nervous. We're better off without him - do you know he has never even gone to Kawaski's? Or the tailor? Oh, why'd you have to bring him back here? He doesn't belong amongst proper civilization."

"That's ridiculous, I bet he's just lonely, and no one will give him a chance." Kirby did not get angry easily, but the paranoia of the widow was unfounded and unfair. He pushed past her, unlocked the door, and threw it open.

A pile of Narcao plants sat on the stoop. Marx was nowhere in sight. Kirby's heart sank. Marx must feel horrible: Kirby had abandoned him even after promising to take him to meet Fumu.

The widow sighed upon seeing that he was gone, going on how it was better for the health of the villagers. Disappointed, Kirby gathered up the flowers by folding up the front of his shirt. He would simply have to drop by Marx's house later and apologize for his rude behavior.

With this decided, Kirby hurried to distribute the remaining Narcao plants. He worked his way up the main and only street before going to the castle and giving them out to the inhabitants there. There was a moment of panic when he realized none of the servants but Captain Doo could have the plants - after all, there was just too many of them to ever have enough. Captain Doo alone knew how many servants there were, but one could be sure there was at least a hundred - perhaps more! Luckily, Kirby explained the situation to the Captain and he assured him that not one of the servants had experienced a nightmare yet, and he understood there was simply too many of them to support.

At long last, everyone had at least two flowers, each with many leaves. With one leaf a night, it should keep them free of dreams - and nightmares - for at least a little, and buy Kirby and Meta Knight time until they could figure out a true solution. Kirby had a few left in his hand - extras, but he decided to keep them.

After all, he wanted some for himself, and knew Meta Knight and Marx might want a few. He was just thinking of checking in with the knight - whom had a tendency to be extremely elusive - when the said knight conveniently turned a corner right in front of him, and Kirby nearly ran into him. Leaping back in surprise, he exclaimed,

"Meta Knight!"

"Kirby. I see you are back." Meta Knight nodded brusquely.

_That was it?_ He wasn't even worried? "Yes, and I already gave out all the Narcao plants."

"You made sure each villager received one?"

Kirby nodded.

"And those are...?" A gloved hand slipped from his cape and gestured at the flowers still in his hand.

"For me and Marx... err, Marx and I. You too, if you want one." Kirby held out a few stems, but Meta Knight waved his hand dismissively.

"No, and you will not be taking any either."

"What? But what if I have a nightmare?"

"Do not be so childish. You and I must remain alert should something happen."

"You're too paranoid," Kirby muttered.

"Only alert. When did you meet Marx?"

"You know him?"

"Unfortunately."

"How?" Kirby whined. He didn't mean for his tone to come out quite so 'childish,' but it seemed like everyone else knew Marx aside from himself.

Meta Knight shifted, his eyes gaining a slight purple tinge; a somewhat uncommon color that immediately captured Kirby's attention. He'd only seen it one other time, when the knight had accidently stepped on his cape. This had lead him to tripping in front of King Dedede, Escargon, and several other people, all who found his mistake hilarious, including Kirby, because he'd never seen the dignified knight lose face. Quietly, Meta Knight said, "When he was younger, he somehow thought it would be amusing to attempt to steal my mask."

Steal Meta Knight's mask? That was the unthinkable: whatever he concealed beneath the mask was a well-guarded secret; a mystery that no one but Meta Knight would ever know - or so Kirby had thought. Amazed, he replied, "Did he succeed?"

Meta Knight glared, the pink replaced by a ring of red. "Regrettably. A mistake I shall not-"

"Really?" Kirby crowed, clasping his hands together. "He actually saw you without your mask? I'll have to ask him-"

"You will do no such thing. Kirby, I would have expected more of you than to go behind my back for information you know I do not like to disclose. If I want you to know, I will show you."

"Yeah, but you'll never show me," Kirby grumbled.

"Then that is my choice." Meta Knight looked eager to drop the subject. Kirby found himself disappointed - but not at surprised - by this. Sometimes it seemed he preferred to be so secluded solely because he had nothing better to do than confuse and frustrate those who wanted to figure out his mysteries. Fumu and Kirby felt this coldness the hardest, because they truly were the only people he corresponded with (aside from King Dedede, but that was only so the king could give orders Meta Knight hardly ever listened to). Despite Kirby's best efforts, Meta Knight never seemed to warm up to him. His emotional exterior, as cold and impassable as his mask, never faltered, even for the student he trained with such meticulousness.

Before Kirby could question him further on his appearance, Meta Knight added, "Also, you may as well give away those remaining plants. I don't want you visiting Marx from now on."

"What, why?"

"Trust me, Kirby, I have my reasons."

"But, he helped me today - he carried back some of the Narcao plants, and -"

"No," Meta Knight said sternly, his gaze piercingly firm. Kirby shut his mouth and seemed to visibly shrink in place, like a leaf crumpling into itself.

"...Can I at least give him the Narcao plants before tonight?" He peered at Meta Knight with his large ocean-blue eyes, sadness lining his face. Though he was slightly taller than Meta Knight, his submissiveness and youth were obvious in his saddened expression and innocently rounded eyes.

The knight sighed. Kirby was too naive, soft-hearted. Not only did he fail to believe ill of people, but he also seemed to have the unavoidable tendency to become attached to anything and everything... such as how he viewed all the villagers as his friends, even if they didn't always feel the same way. This was one of those examples where he clearly didn't realize the potential danger of a friendship he thought was real. Sometimes Meta Knight wondered if talking him to Dreamland did more harm than good.

In any case, he didn't want Kirby to think Marx was anything remotely like a friend. However, one last visit would not be too bad - as long as he didn't see him again. It was the very least Meta Knight could do. Sighing, he relented. "Very well, but after today I expect to hear nothing more about him."

"Okay," Kirby agreed reluctantly. With a short nod, Meta Knight turned and strode away. He'd never even asked if anything else had happened along his journey, only checked to be sure all the villagers had received the Narcao plants and to forbid him from hanging out with Marx.

Brief and cold, just like most conversations with him went. Kirby's immense respect for Meta Knight kept him from questioning his decisions, but sometimes... much more often than he'd like to admit... Kirby wished he wasn't so distant. That the knight could give him some signal he viewed Kirby as a son the way Kirby viewed him as a father. Or at least that he cared...

Sighing, Kirby trudged away from the empty hallway. No better time than the present to tell Marx.

Kirby approached Marx's house, not without some trepidation. Houses did not have personalities; they could not speak, nor move, and had no control over their own appearances. This didn't stop Marx's from giving Kirby a deep, inexplicable feeling of unease as he walked up the cracked steps and past the snares of ivy creeping up its outside walls.

He knocked twice on the old wooden door and waited. A few seconds passed, and he glanced behind him awkwardly. He could see the backs of the village houses in the distance, so unnaturally far away. It was strange, that Marx lived this far... Rolling on the balls of his feet, Kirby knocked again a little louder. Maybe he wasn't home? He considered leaving the flowers on the stoop, but then he wouldn't be able to return again to tell Marx about Meta Knight's order. He chewed on his lip, mulling over what to do, when the lock clicked.

The door opened only the slightest crack and two very familiar purple eyes peered out. "What are you doing here?" Marx said in an unusually hostile voice.

"I just wanted to give you some of the plants... you forgot to take any before you left." When Marx continued to silently stare at him Kirby felt obliged to continue, "I'm sorry you couldn't meet Fumu like I said you could... I didn't expect the widow to shut you out like that."

"I don't need the Narcao." Marx began to close the door, but Kirby reached out quickly and stopped the frame.

"You'll need one - especially because you live so close to the border."

Marx sneered. "Again with the border?" He pushed Kirby forcefully away and mockingly looked left and right. "Weird, I don't see any border."

He slipped further out of his house, but always kept one foot wedged in the doorframe. His long fingers gripped Kirby's shoulders tightly and turned him to face the same way. "Do you see a border? Heh, do you? A fence, pickets, a big red line maybe?" Cackling wildly, he shoved Kirby away before slinking back into the darkness of his home and peering out from behind the door frame. "Go away. It's a bad time."

Kirby hurriedly trotted up the steps again. "But I can't come back! This is the last time we can talk!"

"You live in Dreamland; it can't be that hard to stop by whenever you feel like it. Not that you should - I'm a busy person, you know!"

"Well... I _could_, but I'm not supposed to," Kirby admitted. "Wouldn't it be okay to talk just this once?" Despite his best attempts to be polite and not intrude, Kirby also found himself trying to peer past Marx into his house. "And... what exactly _are_ you doing?"

Marx made a strange noise, something like a growl deep in his throat. "Fiinnee, I guess you can come in for a little bit. Just don't be annoying. Or be less annoying." Sighing, he gestured at Kirby and opened the door wider.

Happily, the blonde trotted through the threshold - and immediately his smiled dropped. He assumed that at some point or another, the light overhead had worked, but now it was cracked and wires dangled out. The only reason he could see at all was because of the various closed doors lining the hallway, two of which had lights on. One was to his direct right, the other at the end of the hall.

As he stepped past Marx, his shoes tread over the rotten carpet. It may have once had a pattern, but now the threadbare fabric was so faded it was all just a faint red. The wood floor around it was dented in places and lined with dust.

It was... in more disrepair than Kirby had guessed from the outside.

Overcoming his initial hesitation, Kirby started walking to the end of the hall, where a closed, dark door stood. A cold hand snatched his collar and steered him forcefully to the door on the right instead. "No exploring," Marx chided.

He stumbled into a kitchen - or at least, what he guessed was the kitchen. The broken tiles on the floor, the somehow lopsided refrigerator, and the multitude of old wooden counters seemed to imply it was a kitchen. In the very middle was a table and several mismatched chairs - one which had a leg broken off. A dim bare lightbulb cast a flickering light upon the scene.

He could only stare. _This_ was where Marx lived? Of course the outside of the house had looked pretty bad, but Kirby had thought he'd at least have fixed up the inside.

Marx skirted around him and went straight to the fridge. He opened the door and disinterestedly shuffled through the contents. "You want some food or something? Snacks, a drink?"

"Um, y-yeah, I'll eat pretty much anything."

Marx snorted as if something he'd said was particularly funny, but continued to browse through the fridge without comment.

Kirby wandered over to the table and traced his hand over its dented surface. "You really live here?"

"Obviously."

"This is..." He winced. He couldn't imagine ever living in a place like this. Everything was falling apart or broken - Kirby didn't even know homes existed that were like this. Everything in Dreamland would get repaired quite easily: in fact, the villagers were always willing to help each other out with repairs. Because everybody worked to help everyone else, the entire town stayed quite nice. Except this house, apparently.

"A great house? Stylish, new? Ha, that's what you're thinking, right? Oh!" Marx crowed in delight and pulled out an apple from the fridge. "I knew I had some sort of fruit in here; I heard something about your favorite food being apples... or was it watermelons...?"

"Watermelons, but the apple is fine," Kirby hurriedly remedied. He was beginning to see why Marx was so skinny - there was no way he would have any really healthy or decent food. Even the widow had mentioned that Marx never came to town, never ate at Kawaski's. How he had food at all was a mystery to Kirby.

"Ack, it was watermelons?"

Marx looked so disappointed that Kirby couldn't help interjecting, "No, really, I love apples too! I love any food!"

"Delicious. Have an apple." Marx grinned and handed it over.

Relieved, Kirby accepted the snack. Marx's situation was bad enough, he certainly didn't need Kirby complaining about his food. Though, he wished Marx wouldn't grin in such a way all the time. There was a strange glint to his eyes that was downright unnerving. As if sensing Kirby's discomfort, Marx hurriedly looked away and gestured at the chairs. "Go on, sit. Oh, and be careful. I'm not sure how old that apple is."

Alarmed, Kirby turned the apple in his hands and inspected it carefully. "It looks all right..."

Marx shrugged and dropped down in a rickety wooden chair, letting his thin arms drape over the sides. Feeling vulnerable under his lazy gaze, Kirby quickly sat down opposite him and set about eating the apple, staring fixedly at a dent in the table.

He swiftly found out that the silence, broken only by the crunching of the apple, was even more awkward.

Luckily, Marx decided to break it. He leaned over the table and rested his head in his hands, tangling his hair in his fingers. "I thought it was strange how you said you couldn't ever come here again. I don't get many visitors, you know, so you can imagine my disappointment when I heard that."

"O-oh... I would visit, if you wanted, but I was forbidden from doing so."

"Forbidden?" Marx raised an eyebrow. "By... Meta Knight, right? I got the impression he was rather controlling."

"Uh, yeah it was Meta Knight... He's not very controlling, actually... I mean, I trust his opinion - not that you're someone I shouldn't hang out with, but he must have his reasons."

"Reasons he didn't tell you?" Marx pressed quietly.

"He... he's..." Kirby looked at the other oddly. "Why do you want to know? That's sort of between Meta Knight and I, not to be rude or anything."

"Oh, no - didn't mean to intrude. I _admire_ your trust."

Kirby nodded. "He's never been wrong. And..." He bit his tongue lightly. No, it wasn't necessary to say that... The fact that he thought of Meta Knight as something of a father was more private information. He didn't even think Meta Knight himself knew that.

Marx raised an eyebrow, a tiny smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth. "And...?"

"He's just trustworthy," Kirby completed. He glanced down at his half-eaten apple. "I'm sorry; I'm not as hungry as I thought I was. Where's your trash can?"

Marx's eyes flicked toward the cabinets and he twitched as if to gesture - then his gaze slowly curved back to Kirby. He held out his hand and Kirby gave back the fruit. Marx proceeded to finish it off, core and all.

"Of course," Marx continued. "I do have another question. Do you, by any chance, know if Meta Knight has any influence over the king? Over his decisions, actions?"

"Influence? Like a consultant?"

"Yes, that!"

Puzzled, "That's a strange question..."

"I'm only wondering, because I was thinking of getting a job from the king. I could really use the money, and maybe then I could find a more decent place to live. If Meta Knight advises the king, I wouldn't have much of a chance, would I?"

"Oh." Kirby smiled. "You don't have to worry. King Dedede is intimidated by Meta Knight sometimes, but he definitely doesn't go to him for advice. He just tries to view him as a lowly knight, and he's too proud to ask him for anything. I guess the closest person to a consultant would be Escargon, King Dedede's lackey.

"Until you do have enough money to get a new place to live... would you like me to try to find a temporary home you could stay in? It doesn't feel right just leaving you here." Kirby cast a dark glance at the ruined house.

"Mm, I think I'd like that quite a lot. Ahh, but wouldn't that go against Meta Knight's order? Eventually, you'd have to come back and tell me if you found property."

"Oh..." Kirby lowered his eyes. "I hadn't thought about that."

"_Or_ I could come and see you instead. Then it'd be _my_ fault."

Kirby gave him a stern look. "It doesn't work that way, Marx. That'd be going behind Meta Knight's back, which I'm not going to do. I respect his word."

Marx scoffed and stuck out his tongue. "I knew you were a goody two shoes, but I didn't realize it was this bad! Ha, have you ever even lied _once?_ Err, don't answer that! This is your chance." He spread out his thin fingers and a strange glint entered his eyes. "A beautiful chance, Kay, if a small one! All you have to do is pretend you never saw me again. A lie is not a sin in itself - they can be very useful! Does this really hurt Meta Knight in any way? Of course not. And I can ensure he'd never find out, so it would make no difference."

"I am not lying to Meta Knight," Kirby stood up sharply from the table, glaring. "If you respected me, you wouldn't try to make me do something like that, especially since I'm trying to help you."

Slowly, very slowly, Marx's fingers curled into themselves to form loose fists. Not fists as if he was angry, but more like he felt insecure, and that small gesture helped. "All right," he said placidly. "I thought you might have that answer."

Hesitantly, he said, "I do want to help you, but I won't lie to do it. I think Meta Knight would be okay if I tried to find you another house... at least, I hope..."


	4. Chapter 4

**Leech**

Chapter 4

His attempts to find Marx a place to stay were woefully unsuccessful. Villagers would ask who Marx was, but as soon as Kirby explained he lived on the border and didn't come into town often, they'd shake their heads and close the door. There was little interest in someone who kept himself so isolated and foreign. Then there were those like the widow, who knew of Marx and wanted nothing to do with him. Their hostile reactions were staggering to Kirby, who had expected at least one person to be kind enough to either let him stay at their houses, or to volunteer to build him a house.

After all, Kirby recalled that the entire town had decided to build him a house when he'd been in need of one. He'd never expected them to so immediately refuse the same idea just because it was someone they didn't know or didn't like.

It wasn't long before Kirby had exhausted every possibility in the town. As the last opportunity, he turned to the castle. King Dedede would never permit someone to freeload at his castle - unless Marx could temporarily stay with another person until he saved enough to get his own room.

Meta Knight would never agree to it. The servants were friendly, but Kirby doubted their crowded quarters would have room for even one other. Fumu... she was stubborn, but compassionate. Kirby was sure she would be understanding.

That was why - after eating an early lunch and hanging out with the servants - Kirby found himself outside Fumu's door, explaining Marx's situation.

"Please, Fumu?" he begged. "It's only until he gets a job and can pay for his own board."

"I thought you said he had a house already," Fumu said skeptically.

"Well, yes - but it's hardly a house! Nobody should have to there; it's all falling apart. And to be honest... I don't think he knows how to run things himself. I told him it was just temporary boarding, but I thought you might be able to teach him some of those basic things he doesn't know, like... like everything. Err, washing clothes, making beds - maybe how to cook, I don't think he knows that... He probably lives on ramen or something; he's so skinny."

"I don't know..." Fumu put her hand on her hip and looked at Kirby sternly. "Why can't the villagers build him a house like yours? Then he'd have permanent residence."

"I tried, but no one wanted to do it. They don't seem to trust him..."

"Maybe they're right - I've never met this Marx, and I'm not getting a good impression."

"Aw, come on," Kirby pleaded, clasping his hands together and rounding his ocean blue eyes. "You don't know him. He just... doesn't have much experience with people, so he comes off as a little odd. But I think he's just lonely, and I know he doesn't mean any harm."

"I'll have to ask my parents," she said. She still looked doubtful, but Kirby could see she was relenting. He shuffled into the living room while Fumu went to get her mom. A few moments later, she returned looking very disgruntled and trailing behind her was a clearly ecstatic Memu.

She smiled pleasantly and greeted Kirby. "Fumu told me about your poor friend Mark, living by himself so far from society..."

"Hi," Kirby said back, "his name is Marx."

"Oh. You said Marx? Yes, Marx, that was it. I couldn't believe there was a boy living in that house - if I'd known, I'd have gotten him out long ago; that's no place for someone to live."

"So, you'll let him stay?"

"Of course! He needs structure, stability. God knows what happened to his parents..."

She went off on a tangent, muttering something about poor orphans.

Kirby stopped listening at 'parents' for the thought at first hadn't occurred to him. Obviously he knew it was normal for people to have parents. Being completely lacking in that department himself, though, he had hardly noticed that Marx had no parents and made no mention of them.

"...needs to regulate these kinds of things, but what can we do?" Memu sighed. "Yes, we'll let that boy stay here as long as he needs."

"Thank you!" Kirby said gratefully.

"It's nothing. Tell him to come as soon as he's ready: I'll go prepare the guest bedroom."

* * *

><p>At first, Kirby had an awkward time trying to figure out how he'd tell Marx that he could stay at the castle, seeing that he wasn't supposed to talk to him again. Eventually he decided it simply couldn't be prevented, and that his avoidance of Marx would have to begin after he'd settled into Fumu and her family's apartment. And next time he spoke to Meta Knight, he would explain the dilemma and that it had been necessary to talk to Marx one last time.<p>

After a small conversation about formalities (since Marx didn't seem to know much about them), Kirby lead him through the castle and they now both stood outside the apartment, greeted by her whole family.

"Marx, meet Fumu, and her parents, the Prime Minister Parm, and Memu. This is her little brother Bun," Kirby introduced. "Everybody, this is Marx."

"It's so good to meet you, Mark. You're welcome to stay as long as you like."

"You can call me Parm." He held out his hand jovially.

Marx shrank away from the potential touch. Kirby eyed him strictly, mouthing the words "you promised."

Suppressing a growl, he shook his hand. "Yes," he muttered, "happy to be here, welcome, grateful to have a presence in your humble home."

Kirby looked almost satisfied, which was good enough for Marx. They showed him around the main area of the house; the kitchen, living room. Parm and Memu were overly enthusiastic and repeatedly told him that he shouldn't be afraid to ask for anything if he needed it, and that he seemed like a 'poor young boy.'

Bun begged his parents to show Marx his collection of rocks, but they said he needed some space, as if he were a caged animal pet by too many hands. Fumu took him to his room.

"This is where you can stay," she explained. "It's our guest room." To her surprise, Marx shot right past her in the doorway and immediately went to the bookcase at the far wall. The way he walked was strange, as if he were tied close to the wall and couldn't quite pull away from it.

He appraised the shelf thoughtfully. "You have books," Marx said with some degree of curiosity.

"They're mine," Fumu said with a smile. "They didn't all fit in my room. You're free to read them if you like, though. Do you like to read?"

"No." He moved on. His fingers, like long spider's legs, investigated the inside of each drawer, explored the odds and ends of the room; trinkets on the nightstand, the alarm clock, an picture frame containing a family photo. He ended up by the bed, stroking the soft bedspread. Around the entire space he had tread, as if creating a private map in his memory. There was something almost ritualistic in it, that Fumu didn't want to interrupt him until he was done.

"Is everything okay?" she asked.

"Perfect. I'm always perfect."

After Marx had settled in, Bun just couldn't contain himself any longer and urged Marx constantly to play ball with him. At first the misplaced jester refused, but finally he relented and went outside to play soccer with him - though Fumu got the impression it was more to escape her worried mother's attention than out of a desire to play soccer. Fumu followed them out, but settled her back against a nearby tree to read. On the occasion, she'd peer over the edge of her book to check on Bun and Marx. So far, it didn't seem as though they'd gotten much soccer done. Bun was teaching Marx the rules, and getting slightly frustrated with his non-attentive pupil.

Fumu chuckled softly and went back to reading. She was just getting to the climax of the book when Bun's shout snapped her out of the story.

Bun came rushing over, clutching the soccer ball, followed by an apathetic Marx.

"Look!" Bun exclaimed, " Look what Marx can do!"

Once Bun was sure she was looking, he set the soccer ball down in front of Marx and waved him on encouragingly. With a bored expression, he placed one foot on the ball and lifted up the other leg so he was balancing with only one foot on the ball.

"Very nice," Fumu said politely.

"No," Bun whined. "That's not what he did earlier. Go on, show her!"

"Meh."

"C'mon Marx, you gotta show them! It was so cool-"

"Really, it's not that great," Marx interrupted. "If you had a bigger ball, I could do more, but this is pretty limiting."

"Pleeeeasseee?"

Marx sighed. Reluctantly he bent over as if to touch his toes, and placed his hands on the ball. He paused a moment, collecting himself, then lifted both his feet so only his hands were holding his weight and his feet were above him in a handstand. He held this position by rolling on the palms of his hands lightly back and forth.

Bun crowed in delight, and Fumu gaped.

"How do you do that?" she asked.

"Just practice. Like I said, I can do better stuff than this." He flipped right side up and kicked the ball back at Bun.

"That is impressive though," Fumu said. "I know I couldn't do something like that."

"It's _awesome,"_ Bun tugged on Marx's sleeve. "Hey, do you know how to do other tricks like that? Teach me!"

Fumu smiled quietly to herself. At least it seemed Marx was getting along with Bun well enough.

At that moment Memu trotted up and called them all to lunch. She had prepared a heaping plateful of delicious sandwiches, with salami, capicola, provolone, lettuce, and shredded tomatoes, for a 'family' lunch to greet their guest. Parm had work to attend to, but everyone else crowded around the table and helped themselves to a sandwich.

"Marx can do a handstand on a soccer ball," Bun was boasting as he took his seat. "And he said he can eat fire!"

"Eat fire?" Memu looked worried.

"Yeah, isn't that cool? I wanted him to show me, but he didn't have a lighter or anything - hey mom, do we have a lighter?"

Memu shook her head vehemently. "No, Bun! You should _never_ play with fire, understand? Mark, that is not something we do here."

"Mhm, wouldn't think of it," Marx hardly was listening; instead, he was absorbed in picking the shredded tomato bits out of his sandwich and dropping them under his chair.

Memu continued telling Bun of the dangers of fire, appearing not to notice Marx's mutilation of his lunch.

Frowning, Fumu nudged him hard in the ribs, eliciting a hiss from him. "Just eat it," she muttered under her breath. "It's impolite to play with your food."

"This isn't playing," Marx whispered back. "_This_ is playing-" He flicked one of the tomatoes at her face.

"Ack! - don't do that!"

He went back to picking out the tomatoes.

"So," Memu suddenly said, directing her attention to Fumu, "I saw you borrowed another book from the library."

"Oh, yes," Fumu smiled. "It's another book about marine biology. It talks about all different kinds of aquatic organisms. I was thinking I'd go down to the lake after lunch and see what I can find."

"Oh, that would be wonderful," Memu said.

"I wanna go too!" Bun interjected. "Mom, can I go swimming?"

"Just remember to wear your sunscreen, and don't swim in the deep part..."

Marx flicked another piece of tomato at Fumu.

"Stop it!" she hissed, kicking his shin under the table.

"Stop it," he mimicked.

"You're such a child," Fumu snapped.

"Fumu, why don't you bring Marx too?" Memu suddenly suggested. "I bet he'd like to go swimming too."

Fumu's eye twitched. "Sure..."

Marx flicked a third piece of food at her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Leech**

Chapter 5

As night began to fall, and the blue horizon melted into pink, Fumu slipped out of her room and settled herself on the balcony outside with a book. Though, she ended up not reading too much and instead looking out to the serene twilight, reflecting on her day.

Suddenly there was a rustling of fabric, and she glimpsed a familiar dark blue cape to her right. If she wasn't so accustomed to it, she would've jumped.

"Do you always have to appear so suddenly?" she chided with a hidden smile.

"You should pay closer attention."

It took her a moment to realize he was joking - yes, an actual light-hearted sentence from Meta Knight - and a small smile crept across her face. Slyly, she eyed him from over the cover of her book. Reserved as ever, he was half-turned from her, gazing at the distant skyline. His dark purple cape fluttered lightly around his body; the only movement around his still frame. "To what do I owe the honor?" Fumu said, echoing his humor in a more distinguishable manner.

"I need a reason to visit?" replied Meta Knight, in what she hoped was meant to be a witty response and not an attack on her own question.

"You tend to have one," Fumu pointed out.

Silence. Then, "Kirby is too naive. He views the world as if there is no evil in it."

The statement was startling and led their conversation to have a sudden drop in mood. "That's harsh..." Fumu mused.

"It's the truth. He does not learn fast enough that fighting is necessary, and not everything can be trusted."

Her uncertainty transformed into hostility. "Not everything can be trusted?" she echoed. "Is that what you think he needs to learn?"

"What is strange about that?"

She frowned deeply at Meta Knight. "Why shouldn't he trust?"

His silence was answer enough: he thought it was necessary, needed for Kirby to be distrustful. At least, that was the impression Fumu received, and it wasn't the first time Meta Knight's strict behavior had caused her to question what exactly he was hoping to accomplish.

She continued, "He is a little too naive... but what harm can it do?"

"Can you not tell?" he replied shortly. "He should not be so oblivious."

She shook her head sadly. "He doesn't have to be anything else, Meta Knight: we're safe in Dreamland. That's who he is, and he's happy that way." _Except you act as though he will one day be leaving Dreamland._ Which would never happen, so she couldn't fathom his concern.

"He seems to have befriended Marx," Meta Knight suddenly said, throwing her off for a minute. Then she remembered what Kirby had said about his reputation, and it clicked. Meta Knight's two comments were not unrelated - he was bluntly stating Kirby was too ingenuous by becoming friends with Marx.

It was his roundabout way of showing concern. Fumu concealed her private smile behind the pages of her book. It was just like Meta Knight to have this fatherly consternation over Kirby and not even know how to go about dealing with it.

"I think he'll be fine," Fumu assured him, all the while pretending it was just an off-hand comment and not at all an attempt to soothe his worries. Him and his pride... "You know Kirby: he tries to make friends with everyone. But he knows what's good and what's not - he'll make the right choices."

"He wanted to find a place Marx could stay closer to Dreamland."

"Yes... Kirby came to my house asking about that. We agreed to let him live with us for awhile. He moved in today."

She saw Meta Knight stiffen slightly. A ring of red surfaced in his eyes, before it was smothered by yellow again.

She sat a little straighter, observing him intently. "What? What is it?"

"How long did he say he would stay?"

"Just a few days. He's looking for a job. Why?"

"He gives me a bad feeling." Vague, as always.

"Just a feeling? I'm surprised you'd be moved by just a feeling."

Meta Knight tilted his head slightly, surveying her carefully with his steely yellow eyes. There was a hint of a question there. A very familiar look - _am I like that?_ He did that a lot with her; he was too composed to actually question her or show surprise, but sometimes she caught glimpses: he was often startled by her remarks regarding his behavior, as if he didn't realize how he acted.

"What?" she laughed, turning her attention back to the pages of the book, though she didn't really read the print. "You calculate people, Meta Knight. It's like you predict them by these assessments you have. I was getting the feeling your opinions weren't too swayed by emotion."

"... Sometimes I worry just how much you know about me."

The comment brought a small smile to her face before she shook her head and sighed. "Not enough."

"Good."

She glanced back at him sharply. "You don't have to be so distant, you know."

He'd long since looked back over the field; shading his eyes from her and showing only the cold metal mask. His shoulder rose and fell in a weary shrug.

Fumu sighed again. Alright. She hadn't really expected much of a different answer; it was like him to avoid answers. Feigning nonchalance, she resuming reading - or rather, her eyes scanned the sentences, but her mind was thinking over Meta Knight's responses and was too muddled to comprehend its meaning.

Eventually, she heard Meta Knight's retreating footsteps.

* * *

><p>Meta Knight's words left her with a strange unease. He trained and looked after Kirby with a sedulous adherence to what he believed was right for him; in this Fumu had no doubt. No... the problem arose when she doubted if what he thought was right was actually right. This was one such situation.<p>

_He does not learn fast enough that fighting is necessary, and not everything can be trusted._

He was too vague. It almost seemed like he thought something bad was going to happen - that Kirby one day would need those lessons Meta Knight taught him so firmly. It would explain why he taught him... but still, Fumu couldn't imagine why fighting would be 'necessary.' Perhaps she was just being paranoid - but still, it was worth investigation.

And when in doubt, she went to the library.

Luckily, Dreamland was outfitted with an extensive library spanning the entirety of the castle's basement; stocked floor to ceiling with dusty tomes. The vast collection had to have been built before King Dedede had become king, for it was much too old, and there was no way Dedede would put in effort to make a library.

She was on her way there the morning after she'd spoken to Meta Knight, when she heard muffled voices in an empty hall. She paused. This was strange, because people didn't normally come down to the basement. Few people in Dreamland liked to read, and there was no other reason to head through this hallway unless one was going to check out a book.

Mystified, she crept toward the voices. It was impossible to determine what exactly they were saying, but they sounded very familiar... Fumu came upon a closed door, and she was sure whoever was speaking was behind this door.

She pressed her ear against the wood. _That sounds a lot like my brother... _But what was he doing down here? He hated reading.

"I _told_ you I could find one, see? _Now_ will you show me? Please?"

"Ugh, shut up, you're so loud."

"Hey!"

"Ehehehe..."

Fumu heard a small click, then something that sounded oddly like the crackling of paper. That couldn't be what she thought it was... Then she remembered what Bun had said yesterday. _It is._

She threw open the door and stormed in.

Bun yelped and jumped away. Marx was standing beside him, with a thin flaming torch in each hand, the fire casting fiendish shadows on his grinning countenance. "Hello, Fumu. You're just in time."

He spun each torch so the flames slithered in bright orange circles around his body. They looked alive, possessed of their own will and wild as horses, but always revolving around Marx as if constantly drawn back to him.

His wrists twisted, then he brought his arms straight above his head and tilted both torches down. He opened his mouth wide, baring his sharp fangs. As if testing the element, he licked at the fire and made it dance away from his tongue.

Then he closed his mouth around the torches, immediately extinguishing the flames. Laughing quietly, he pulled out the smoking torches and eyed Fumu. "Impressive, right?"

Fumu was still recovering, having believed Marx would burn himself - but quickly she found herself again. "You idiot! I can't believe you'd show Bun something like that - and _you_!" She pointed strictly at her little brother, "Mom _told_ you not to play with fire! She specifically forbade you from it, and you asked Marx to show you anyway?"

Bun jumped and clamped his hands together. "I'm sorry, sis! I swear, I was just curious!"

She held out her hand. "You stole dad's lighter too, didn't you? Come on, hand it over."

Bun glumly gave her back the lighter, and Fumu pocketed it. "You won't tell mom, will you?" he mumbled.

Fumu sighed. "Not this time, Bun. But don't ever go against the rules like that again - it's for your own safety."

He hugged her. "Thanks, sis."

She nodded and cast Marx a dark look. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I'm just glad neither of you got hurt."

He grinned. "Oh, I'm flattered - you care about me."

Fumu rolled her eyes. _So immature. _"Though... that was really good," she admitted. "Kirby said you were looking for a job. I bet people would pay to see you doing tricks like that."

"Yeah, I bet people would pay to see you turning tricks too," Marx sniggered.

Fumu gaped at him, speechless and hardly believing he had just made a comment like that.

Bun looked between the two, mouth open in confusion. "What is it? What did he say?"

"You... you _idiot!"_ Fumu whirled around and stomped out of the room. In her anger, her feet automatically led her to her place of greatest comfort - the library. Once there she heatedly threw herself to the task of figuring out Meta Knight's cryptic words.

With such a challenging job before her, she was able to, at least temporarily, forget what Marx had said and focus solely upon the words and text before her eyes.

She needed to discern his meaning in saying that fighting was necessary. It seemed an offhand remark at first - of no particular importance - but lately she'd begun to wonder...

Meta Knight trained Kirby for so long, then sent him outside the borders, appearing to hardly care about the potential danger. And who would know better than Meta Knight, who had come from the outside? It was as if he knew nothing would happen. Another strange note was the fact Meta Knight was not from Dreamland in the first place and if he was not a demon - then other non-demons must exist.

Having already begun doubting the villagers' assumption that Dreamland was the center of the universe and the only civilized province, she also began questioning its origin. She turned to history books; specifically ones dealing with Dreamland in its infancy. After all, if there were lands outside of its borders, then Dreamland had to have separated and become secluded from them at some point in time, to turn into the isolated place it was now. It was all theoretical of course: she hadn't given up the idea that only demons were outside the borders. It was just… a suspicion.

And if she were to find anything regarding the outside, she would have to find it in old, old books, written when, or about, Dreamland as it was becoming isolated.

Unfortunately, the library seemed completely deficient in the subject of ancient history. She hunted through the entire section, pulling off aged books and flicking through their yellow pages, but it ended in futility when she reached the end of the section and found nothing dating back past three hundred years. Three hundred years of the same superstition, the same fear of foreigners.

While lacking in the information she was looking for, the books did provide insight on the town. Evidently the Star Rod had been the pride of the town for all these years: the oldest account of it was two hundred and seventy years previous, and detailed a ceremony celebrating its existence. It was a brief paragraph, and made no mention of why it was celebrated, or how it had gotten there. Fumu thought both these questions were rather significant, considering that their ancestors had held a ceremony for it. Yet the book was incredibly vague. It almost seemed to be intentionally that way – like the author hadn't even thought to add it in. Like it was obvious.

She chewed her lip and checked the date of publication on the book. 3E 130. The book was written nearly a hundred years after the ceremony it depicted, but the author stated the ceremony was held annually. Had he too witnessed these ceremonies? And why did Dreamland not hold them anymore?

She flicked to the back of the book. The last chapter described events in 3E129. Much like the rest of the book, they were simplistic, reflective, and the style seemed to imply contentment through the words. The author had liked the village. He maintained a typical reporter-like distance as he depicted history, but in the last chapter, he seemed to make it more personal. It was filled with descriptions of Dreamland at the time he was writing it. It seemed much like Dreamland was now; near perfect weather, gradual and non-dramatic changes of season, and a peace over all the villagers.

There was no mention of a ceasing of the celebrations for the Star Rod.

Mystified, she continued browsing through the book. It was the oldest out of all of them, and went back furthest in history. Still, it never went past three hundred years. Fumu was not really a history erudite, having more interest in marine life and biology, but she was pretty certain three hundred years wasn't that great an amount of time: it took much longer for life-forms in the lake to evolve. Was Dreamland's history simply not written past this point? ... Or was it just not in this library?

She read on. So little occurred in the town that the author was inclined to record even trivial events. He happily noted publications of other books (evidently, it was not so common to have the ability to write), celebrations of the towns-people - and most curiously, elections of new kings. For as far back as his history stretched, there was always a king to rule over Dreamland. He was elected by the people, but required to have a certain level of education to be fit to rule. The book went into very little detail for this: just like many other things, he wrote with the impression events would never change, and therefore there would be no actual need to record anything else but solid facts of a time-period. There was no elaboration of why or how - it was common knowledge. Or at least, it was in his time.

Life had certainly changed since his time; rapidly and dramatically. There were no Star Rod ceremonies. King Dedede was king, and Fumu was fairly certain he hadn't been elected

She perused over another article where the author talked about the publication of a popular children's book. She smiled slightly at reading the title - it was a book she'd actually read once, when she was very little. She could remember the old faded cover well, depicting the handsome hero of the tale.

The actual details of the book were foggy in her memory, but she recalled that the tale told of a brave young warrior with the wings of an angel. When darkness descended upon the warrior's homeland, he took up his lance and soared into the depths of space to defeat the evil and save all that he treasured.

Now, what had ever happened to that little book anyway? Fumu frowned. She wasn't sure why it was important. Really, it wasn't - but somehow, she didn't know where it was anymore. She'd only read it when she was first beginning to read, so some of the words in even such a simple book had been a challenge. Her feeling of accomplishment had been great after struggling to the end, when the hero returned home victorious.

Maybe it was still in the library. Fumu set down the history book and scanned along the shelves - she needed a break from all the research anyway. Unfortunately, as hard as she looked, that small book seemed to be missing from the collection.

Hesitantly she concluded that she must have simply misplaced it in her youth - it wasn't as if it really mattered anyway.

Exhausted of studying, Fumu at last made her way back to her family's apartment. Perhaps she'd go to the lake, as she had planned the day before...


	6. Chapter 6

**Leech**

Chapter 6

The cook, Kawaski, definitely wasn't a very good one - Kirby was able to get much better food from the castle servants. However, the cook and Kirby were good friends, and it was courtesy for him to eat at the restaurant occasionally.

As soon as he opened the door, the cook himself came rushing up, "Oh Kirby, there you are!" He had a big grin on his face, and threw up his arms upon seeing him. "Good, good, I knew you'd be here soon. Your friend went on ahead of you to save a seat." He scratched his head. "Err, not that there's enough customers to have to save a seat..."

"My friend?" echoed Kirby - a vague statement that was, since he considered almost everyone in town his friend.

"Sure, the weird one - I mean, the uh, foreigner, heh..." Looking very embarrassed, Kawaski finally pointed to the booth in the corner. There Marx sat, feet up on the opposite chair and a familiar smirk on his lips. He was watching them.

Kawaski turned away hurriedly and leaned close to Kirby, lowering his voice, "Uh, why do you have such a creepy friend? He's been watching me while I cook, I swear. Non-stop. Like a hawk or something. Can I get you anything to eat?"

"Sorry about that," Kirby grimaced. "I think I'll have spaghetti and meatballs today." Kawaski nodded and scurried off.

Kirby glanced back over at Marx, narrowing his eyes. Marx shouldn't be here - especially not waiting for him. Not that he wasn't happy to see him... but Kirby had sworn to Meta Knight that he would not speak with Marx.

It wasn't like he could just rudely ignore him and go to a different booth. Sighing, he slid into the chair opposite Marx (causing him to have to move his feet). He waved cordially, but Kirby made himself ignore the gesture.

Marx frowned, then placed his elbows on the table and leaned over. "Hey, don't look so upset. I've got it all figured out, see? Meta Knight said you couldn't speak with me, but you never specifically said I couldn't speak with you - so here I am. As long as you never respond, we're in the clear."

Kirby glared in a way he hoped fiercely stated, "It doesn't work that way." Something was lost in translation, for Marx replied,

"Good, you understand. If it makes it easier, I won't even talk all that much."

It was too difficult conveying emotions through gestures accurately, so Kirby opted to ignore Marx entirely. Hence, neither said a single word until Kawaski gave Kirby his food and he thanked him. Kawaski didn't offer to take Marx's order, and Marx didn't ask.

Feeling more and more awkward by the second (and painfully aware of Kawaski curiously spying on them from the kitchen), Kirby bowed his head so as not to look at the other and set in on his meal.

"Did you know," drawled Marx unexpectedly, "That Meta Knight's eyes are actually silver?"

Kirby choked on his spaghetti and spent several minutes pounding on his chest to stop coughing. At last, highly embarrassed, he set down his fork and glared at Marx for making him choke.

He had not, however, missed the gist of what Marx said. And it was wrong - Meta Knight's eyes were yellow.

Marx's eyebrows shot up, giving him a rather comical appearance. He said nothing more.

Slowly, Kirby picked up his fork and took another bite. Smaller, in case Marx decided to interrupt. And again. And again.

Though... Marx had seen Meta Knight's face before, hadn't he? And really, why would he lie?

No... Kirby scolded himself for being so naive. Marx had seen his face, and most likely was just messing with Kirby. From being at his house, he should have learned Marx liked to joke around with him.

"Silver-white, like the moon," Marx chimed in.

Luckily, Kirby had been expecting him to say something eventually, and managed to refrain from choking.

"They're yellow," he murmured under his breath, within only Marx's hearing range. He didn't look at him, as if somehow that excused him from talking to him. It was just two words anyway. He hadn't really meant to speak, surely Meta Knight would be okay with that...

"Yellow with his mask on," Marx corrected, and Kirby could just hear the mocking in his voice. He bit his lip, squirming in place. Don't speak, don't speak... He shook his head.

"It's true. It's very creepy against the whites of his eyes. Especially so when you watch them change colors."

Kirby bit back more questions - he wouldn't give Marx the satisfaction of any more words. But now his mind was racing - Meta Knight's true eye color _wasn't_ yellow, shattering Kirby's lifelong perception that they were and opening up a whole new chasm of mysteries. After all, he had silver eyes - that was unheard of. At least Escargon had also yellow eyes.

And on that matter, Kirby knew of no one else whose eyes could change color: it was simply something he had always known Meta Knight could do, and therefore had not questioned it. Until now.

He groaned, knowing Marx knew more, but he could not ask him both because it was Meta Knight's privacy, and he was forbidden from speaking with Marx in the first place.

"Don't you want to hear more?" Marx wheedled. "He's too private for his own good - maybe there's something he wants to hide - something obvious, unless of course, he never shows his face. Tsk, tsk, you'd think he would tell you himself - he ought to. Being your mentor of sorts and all."

Kirby said nothing but mechanically ate his spaghetti. He wasn't sure he could really taste it all that much though.

Something as simple as eye color shouldn't be this interesting - or maybe because he wasn't even talking specifically about eye color at this point.

"No? Nothing else? You must be curious though. You won't find this out from Meta Knight. Really, you'll never know it if you don't ask me - who he is, where he came from - who _you_ are."

Marx couldn't know all that, Kirby assured himself. All he'd done was steal Meta Knight's mask once and while Kirby was interested enough in that, he was also more clever than to think Marx could learn any of that extra information from just stealing his mask. He wouldn't be tempted by that, no way.

"All right." Marx sat back in his chair and smiled placidly. "I understand if you don't want to tread on his respect like that."

Kirby almost said 'thank you,' but held himself back. He'd done enough talking - now, he was just relieved Marx could see that he had more values than to disrespect Meta Knight's trust.

"I'm just saying..." Marx added casually. "If you ever want to know... I_ am_ here."

Kirby made a point of finishing his meal in silence, and leaving Marx by himself at the booth. Not without some amount of guilt.


	7. Chapter 7

**Leech**

Chapter 7

Fumu went to the lake with Bun for the remainder of the day. Marx had vanished; where he had gone, she didn't know, but she planned to force an apology out of him when she saw him next.

The day passed without seeing him once, and he didn't even appear for dinner. Fumu assured her mother he was probably at Kawaski's.

When Marx finally returned, it was past eleven. Fumu heard the front door open and close, and someone's footsteps over their floor. Silently she got up from bed, checking the other bed as she left to ensure Bun was still fast asleep.

She found Marx in the kitchen, digging out leftovers from their fridge. He glanced back once to acknowledge her presence, but made no explanation to where he had been all day. Crossing her arms, she observed him critically. Eventually, he would talk. For two days now, she'd been sympathetic to his rude mannerisms and selfish behavior, but no longer.

He'd placed his haphazard plate of food in the microwave and turned it on before Fumu spoke, "That was very rude, what you said to me. You're lucky I haven't told my parents or Meta Knight."

"Sue me."

"I want an apology."

Marx glanced over his shoulder at her, smirking. "I have a story to tell you."

"A story?" She eyed him distrustfully. "Does it have to do with your apology?"

"Yes."

Reluctantly, "Okay..."

Marx licked his lips and leaned against the microwave. "All right. One day, a long long long time ago, in a land far far far away, there lived a man. You got that?"

"Yes."

"Good. This man wanted to be a rich man above anything else. He was very poor, you see. And licked money. Got it?"

"He licked money?"

"He liked money. Understand?"

"You don't have to stop every five seconds to make sure I get it," Fumu said, annoyed. "I do actually have an intelligence greater than an ape's, thank you."

Marx held up his hands innocently, "Hey hey now, sorry, couldn't be totally positive you know, not that I think you're stupid, but I just wanna be sure you understand-"

The microwave beeped and he made a happy squee noise before retrieving the plate and plopping down at the table to eat. He didn't have any silverware.

Fumu turned up her chin in dislike, but deigned to walk closer to him so he was reminded that she was there, and she did expect him to continue. He ignored her.

"So," she prompted. "What about the man who _liked_ money?"

"I need a fork."

Fumu's eye twitched. "Then get a fork."

He gave her an imploring look. "You're by the silverware drawer."

"You were eating fine without one!" Fumu hastily clasped her hand over her mouth, recalling that both her parents and Bun were asleep and she didn't want to wake them. They shouldn't have to deal with this. Granted, neither should she, but if someone must, it might as well be her.

"Yeaa..." he drawled. "But you taught me that I shouldn't eat with just my hands: it's impolite. I'm learning, see?"

She clenched her fists and had to force herself to take a deep breath. "Okay. I'm glad you're taking into consideration my advice." She fished out a fork from the drawer and handed it over - albeit with angry tension in her posture.

Marx smiled and accepted it. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Now, if you would please tell me this story. And I still expect an apology from you."

"Okay. A man wanted to become rich, and he invested all his time in 'get-rich-quick' schemes in a desperate attempt to get a million dollars. But no matter what he tried, he always failed, and when he was an old old man he actually lost more money than he ever got. He died poor. The end."

Fumu stared. "_What?_ That's it?"

"Mhmm."

"That has nothing to do with your apology."

"Of course it does. You said you wanted my apology. The moral of the story is that you don't always get what you want." By this time Marx had successfully devoured everything on his plate, and he shoved his chair back so the legs grated against the floor.

He turned to stride into the guest room.

"You get right back in here," Fumu commanded dangerously. "Aren't you going to wash your plate?"

He stopped in place and addressed her without even looking at her, "Of course not. That's what you're here for."

"I am _not_ here to be your slave, Marx. You are a guest in our house, and you have no right to walk all over us like you do. It's rude, inconsiderate, and I'm fed up with it. I know you have manners, you just _choose_ not to use them."

"Manners?" Marx imitated a thoughtful look, tapping his lips. "Eh, nope! Can't say I've learned." He shot her a jagged leer that irritated her to no end.

"Well, here's a lesson for you right now." She pointed at his cup and plate. "You rinse your dishes in the sink, then put them in the dishwasher. Go on; I'll watch to make sure you do it right."

That grin slipped, replaced by a very ugly look.

Fumu glared back, adamant. No longer would she let him do as he pleased. If he was going to live in her house, even if only a few days, then he was certainly going to follow their rules, and pick up after himself. In this she was unrelenting.

At length, Marx forced a grin. "Oh Fumu, _thank you_ for teaching me such a valuable lesson." He promptly turned and picked up his dishes. Fumu watched him carefully as he rinsed them off, then opened the dishwasher, placed the dishes inside, and straightened with his back to her.

She didn't appreciate that sarcasm - he had obeyed though, so Fumu nodded her head in satisfaction. "Good, it's about time you learned some respect."

He slowly turned around, eyeing her from the corner of his vision.

Fumu faltered. There was something in that look, something that chilled her to the bone, and instantly, without any words spoken, she knew there was something wrong. She took a hesitant step backward.

Then he lunged. Before she could react, his hands were around her throat, crushing her windpipe, and he forced her so hard against the cabinets that her back bent abnormally over the edge. She tried to cry out, but his grip was too strong and all she could let out was a strangled choking noise. Marx was practically on top of her, his weight pinning her to the cabinets so she could not escape even as she squirmed and thrashed.

Desperate, she tried in vain to pry her fingers beneath his to give herself more air.

"Promise you won't scream. I'll let go."

She let out a growl, showing her resilience by pounding his arm angrily. He responded by tightening his fingers, which brought tears to her eyes. She desperately needed breath.

"I'll let go," he repeated. "Don't scream."

She nodded wildly. He loosened his grip on her throat, and immediately she tried to scream - unfortunately, her windpipe wasn't up to it yet and instead a hoarse weak sound rasped from her throat. A sound she instantly regretted, for it was entirely useless and Marx's hands clamped down again. "Your fault," he said, and she shuddered for she could hear the amusement that should not have been there.

To her disgust, he then placed his cheek against hers. "Guess what, Fumu?" he murmured. "I have another story. Isn't that exciting?" He giggled, high-pitched and unnatural.

"There was once this _beautiful_ - but very proud - white cat. She had a golden cage, in which she kept a good friend of hers: a parakeet. She was afraid, you see, that if the parakeet ever left the cage, something might... _hurt_ him.

"Terribly selfish of her, don't you think?" He seemed to expect a reply, but with his hands still lingering on her throat, she didn't trust herself to speak, and she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of hearing her strained voice.

"I agree," he whispered into her ear. "Day after day, she paced in front of that same cage, thinking her beloved parakeet _must_ be happy with his caged existence - because, what more could he want?

"But from a distance, an innocent fox would watch that cat pace before the cage, and do you know what he thought?"

Fumu growled, "That he... should leave... the parakeet alone." She clenched her teeth together, suppressing the coughing that threatened to wrack her body.

"Clever Fumu. He thought that maybe he'd really want to be friends with the parakeet too - and the only thing stopping him... was a mere cat." He chuckled softly. "You're a smart girl, you can probably figure out how the story ends."

He released her neck and took a small step away, relieving the pressure on her back. There was a mild smile on his face, as if he had done nothing more than hold cordial conversation with her. She clutched her own throat, coughing.

"Consider it a slight warning, Fumu. I do what I want, and you don't get in my way. No matter what it is: refusing to do dishes, or innocently befriending Kirby."

"Get out," Fumu commanded despite her voice being weak, glaring at him fiercely. He was deeply unnerving her, and there was no way she'd feel safe with him still living here. She only wanted him to leave.

"He isn't as defiant as you..." Marx said thoughtfully. "At least, he won't be for so long."

"Get out!" Fumu clapped her hands over her mouth, for one moment thinking she'd woken her parents, or Bun. She didn't want them to see her like this - nor have to see how quickly Marx had rendered her powerless. And she didn't want him anywhere near her family.

Marx paused, his eyes also curving to the doorway. It was silent for a moment, then his gaze returned back to her. "Only because you asked so politely."

With that, he simply walked out, leaving her alone in the kitchen with bruises just beginning to form on her throat.

**A/N: **Yes, Liuria, I took out some of the intensity of that by removing Marx's favorite word. It's too soon to have that in there yet ;)

~Even if the original was better~


	8. Chapter 8

**Leech**

Chapter 8

Kirby was generally a deep sleeper, which was why he found himself in a state of sleepy confusion when his eyes blinked open around what must've been midnight. Being a new moon, hardly any light filtered through the window and it was pitch black in his small house.

For a moment, he drowsily lay there, wondering why he had woken up, and more importantly, why couldn't he go back to sleep. He rolled over and thought to himself, _"My bed's really uncomfortable."_ Not to mention his blanket must've fallen off sometime in the night; he couldn't feel its warmth. And his pillow... where had his pillow gone...? Wait...

He stretched out his fingers and laid them flat on his mattress, only to realize it was a wooden floor underneath his finger tips. _What the...?_

He must've fallen off his bed. Surprised that he hadn't woken sooner, but too tired to really think about it, Kirby simply decided to unquestioningly climb back into bed. Groaning slightly and rubbing his eyes, he sat up. His exploring hand felt the soft linen of his bed and slipped up onto the mattress. He then tried to clamber back in, but his hand trailed across something cold and bony. Greatly confused, he blindly felt the object; a soft palm, half curled fingers.

"H-hello?" he whispered into the silence. Suddenly he felt very much awake. Someone else was in his bed. He felt his way to the other's shoulder and shook it lightly. "Excuse me? Um... This is my house if you didn't know... I don't know if you're confused or something, but I would like my bed back pl-" The shoulder shifted and a hand clamped down on Kirby's mouth.

A tired grumble, "Shut up."

Kirby pushed aside the hand gently. _"Marx?"_

"Mhn."

"What are you doing? You should be at the castle."

There was no reply. Kirby presumed he'd fallen asleep. "Hey, Marx," he repeated, shaking his shoulder again. "Wake up, I need my bed back - you can sleep at the castle."

Marx grabbed his wrist to stop him, digging in his sharp nails. "I said shut up."

Kirby winced and tensed up from the tone of voice. He continued in a considerably more quiet voice, " I can't sleep on the floor. Why aren't you at Fumu's house?"

"I don't want to talk about it. Just go." Marx let go of his wrist and pushed him away weakly. "My bed. Mine."

At this, he seemed to determine the conversation finished. Kirby stood awkwardly, fiddling with his thumbs and wondering what to do. He didn't want to have to sleep on the floor, and it _was_ his bed, not Marx's. He also didn't want to upset Marx or be mean to him. Maybe if he just asked really really nicely...

He stepped closer nervously, and lightly poked his shoulder. "Not to bother you, but this is my bed, and-"

Marx growled low in his throat, a dangerous sound. Kirby flinched back, prepared to dart out if he turned violent. He wasn't fast enough. Marx seized his arm, demonstrating an unexpected amount of strength, and angrily pulled him onto the bed beside him.

Kirby yelped and instinctively tried to squirm away. Marx responded by wrapping his arms almost painfully tight around him and pulling Kirby's back against his chest. If he tried to move, his grip would only tighten.

"Uh... Mar-?" Again his hand clamped down over his mouth, nails digging into his cheeks.

"Sleep," commanded Marx.

And at length, with no alternative, he did.

* * *

><p>The sun was just barely up, but Meta Knight had already been awake for an hour. He preferred to not sleep at all if he could, especially with the nightmares plaguing the villagers. The Narcao had worked for now, but he couldn't promise they would last forever.<p>

Kirby, much unlike him, tended to sleep ridiculous amounts of time. But not today! No, it was a perfect day for training, and Meta Knight determined that waking him up hours earlier than he typically would be awake could benefit him. Sleeping in that much couldn't be healthy.

Therefore he strode down Dreamland's main street, cape lightly blowing around him in the brisk morning breeze. For being so reserved and stoic, he did feel in unusually high spirits. With his long strides, he soon arrived at Kirby's house.

He knocked twice, but didn't wait very long for an answer - Kirby was never awake at this time. It would be hell getting him to wake at all, knowing how much of a deep sleeper he was.

Meta Knight let himself in, closed the door quietly behind him, and peered over at the bed. The sun let in a gentle light, seeming to halo the blonde and illuminate his peaceful mien as he slept.

Suddenly he froze. There was another person curled around Kirby, their arm loosely resting over his body. The ill-fitting sleeve - a distinctive bright purple - was impossible to mistake. Meta Knight instantly made the connection, but the scene made no more sense to him, and he could not move or speak for his surprise. His eyes flicked down to his student, sure to find something wrong with him, some indication of harm. Kirby slept on serenely, seemingly uninjured and content.

_Wrong._ Against his will, Meta Knight let out a low growl, hand slipping to the hilt of his sword. He took one slow step forward, and the boards creaked under his feet. The purple-sleeved arm twitched. Meta Knight paused again. Silently he planned his next course of action. Attacking the intruder in his sleep would be dishonorable... _He should not be here._

Unfortunately, it appeared Marx was a much lighter sleeper than Kirby. He shifted in place and groggy purple eyes peered over Kirby's shoulder curiously. His jester hat had fallen off at some point, leaving behind very messy hat-hair. It took only half a second for Meta Knight's presence to register in Marx's mind. A lazy grin spread across his face. "Hello, Sir Meta Knight."

"Marx." Not a question, not a statement. A single sharp word encompassing his barely contained anger.

"Is it morning already? What a shame; I'm still so tired..." Marx yawned dramatically and wrapped his arm tighter around Kirby, purposely nuzzling into his shoulder. Meta Knight itched to draw his sword. _  
><em>

The jester feigned surprise at Meta Knight's expression. "Oh... Fumu _did_ tell you what happened, didn't she? How she kicked me out? ...No? Fortunately, Kirby here was more than willing to offer his own home. He does get so lonely, you know, being alone all the time."

"You cannot stay here."

"Why not? It's a little small, but... home sweet home."

"_Get out now."_

"Oooh, sensitive, are we? Very protective."

"I have every right to be protective of my student. Now, this is your last warning. Get. Out." Meta Knight growled, feeling like his veins were boiling with his fury . With the sound of sliding metal, he drew his sword. If anything, the barely controlled crimson blaze of Meta Knight's eyes served to further encourage Marx.

"Your student?" The jester's face lit up with twisted glee. He put more of his weight on the arm looped around Kirby and leaned possessively over him. The devilish glint in his eyes darkened with his words. He spoke faster, eagerly, but eerily quiet so as not to wake him. "No, no, it's more like a father figure, isn't it? That's how he views you, but you're never there! You don't make a very good father, do you, MK? Maybe if you spend more time with him - but ah, you're more concerned with this mysterious aura of yours than the well-being of _your_ 'student.'"

"Who are you to say these things? You do not understand -"

"_I do_ - he needs someone to care for him, to listen, you aren't good enough, but _I._.."

An animalistic snarl escaped from Meta Knight's lips. In a few long strides, he was beside the bed. Without him even intending, his strong hand grabbed Marx's collar and he dragged him closer to his face. He hated that mirthful looked painted upon Marx's countenance, hated his lying eyes and hated the words he spat like venom.

"You know _nothing_," Meta Knight roared.

Marx's thin fingers clamped down on Meta Knight's own shirt. Rather than trying to pry himself out of the other's grip, he pulled himself closer. Licking his fangs with a maliciously vulgar expression, he leaned near the other's ear. There the jester hissed,

"He's _mine_."

That did it. Meta Knight used his greater strength to yank Marx off the bed, and he dropped unceremoniously to the floor. Before he could even stand, Meta Knight grabbed his shoulders, dragged him up, and slammed him against the wall. Galaxia pressed on his throat.

"Don't hurt him!" a third high-pitched voice shrieked. Kirby, having just woken, darted into view, trying to push the two apart. Meta Knight shoved him away and made sure his sword remained steady at Marx's throat.

"Give him a sword so we can properly duel," the knight snarled. "I must kill him."

"N-no! What's going on? Why are you fighting?"

"He didn't like the sleeping arrangements," Marx finally spoke, with a hint of a smirk in his tone.

Meta Knight pulled him off the wall briefly before smashing him back against it. Marx's head struck the hard surface and his eyes rolled dazedly.

"Stop!" Kirby wailed, trying to grab Meta Knight's wrist and tug him away. "What are you doing?"

Realizing this was doing him no favors, Meta Knight furiously tore away and simply glared, panting, at the source of his hatred.

"Kirby, Marx needs to go back to his own house now."

"B-but he's staying with Fumu... or, he was..."

"He overstayed his welcome. Since you haven't found him a new home, it is far past time for him to go back."

"You can't make him go back!" Kirby argued, glancing over at the jester worriedly. He still seemed to be recovering from hitting his head. "He'd be all by himself at the border..."

"He was just_ fine _before you ever met him; he will be fine now."

Finally Marx blinked a few times and curved his gaze back to Kirby. "I really don't mean to intrude..." he said quietly.

"Don't worry, okay?" Kirby assured him. "You're not intruding. Meta Knight, it's just mean to send him back again, his house is... is..."

"Ghetto?" offered Marx.

"Uh, yeah. Really, I wouldn't mind if he stayed here until we're able to find a place for him."

"_I_ mind. He will move back."

Anger flared in Kirby's expression. "Why is it such a big deal? Do you just not like him?"

Meta Knight's own fury abated slightly, to be replaced with a subtle horror. Kirby did not argue with him - it was not his nature. He was agreeable, complacent. Meta Knight's word was always accepted without question. _So where did this rebelliousness come from?_ He eyed Marx, repressing the need to vomit. Whatever he'd been telling him, whatever he'd infected him with...

Suddenly, it because a completely different battle.

Despite Meta Knight's own stubborn nature, he knew arguing at this point could only end in disaster. He stalked over to the bed and pulled off one pillow and one blanket, both which he dropped on the floor. "He can sleep here," said Meta Knight shortly.

Kirby bit his lip, remembering how Marx refused to give up the bed the previous night. "I don't think he likes the floor much..."

Marx, however, seemed perfectly happy all the sudden. "It's not a problem, Kirby, honest. Like you said, it's only for a bit." He offered Meta Knight a friendly _look at me, agreeing with you, isn't this so great_ smile.

The knight instantly regretted his decision.

"But you liked the bed-"

"Hey, I'm an easygoing person. If Meta Knight wants me to sleep on the floor, then that's what I'll do."

"If you say so..."

"Good," Meta Knight said reluctantly. Something would have to be done about this. He needed time to think, but there was no way he was leaving Kirby with Marx. "Now come, Kirby, we need to train."

Meta Knight maintained an inhumanly swift stride - unnaturally so even for him, letting Kirby know just how pissed off he was. The training session was going to be unpleasant, he just knew it. Rather than his usual passive submissiveness he felt when Meta Knight was angry, Kirby was less inclined to make peace this time. Meta Knight was overreacting in the first place, so there was no reason to take out his anger by making Kirby's training difficult.

Much of the walk was in silence, until Meta Knight's voice snapped him from his thoughts,

"I thought I told you to keep away from him."

"I'm sorry... I meant to, but... he came in late last night and I wasn't thinking straight - I was half-asleep..."

"So you entirely disregarded your promise."

"I said I was sorry," Kirby moaned.

No reply, but Meta Knight's pace slowly slightly. Kirby wondered if this was a good or a bad sign. More quietly, he inquired, "What exactly did happen?"

"Last night?"

"Yes."

"I'm not sure... I woke up on the floor, and Marx had taken my bed. I asked him why he wasn't at the castle, but he didn't want to talk and he refused to get up. So, I figured I'd bring it up again in the morning, but you came in first..." He trailed off.

"Nothing... else happened?"

"Not really."

Meta Knight cast a sharp glance over his shoulder. "Not really, or no?" he demanded.

"No," Kirby verified, confused about the specification. "I mean, I moved off the floor if that's what you mean...?"

Meta Knight made no elaboration. By this point they had reached one of the long green fields that were elevated above the town so you could look down and see the entire expanse, from the castle to the village to Kirby's house, and the border beyond.

"I don't know why you make such a big deal out of it anyway," Kirby muttered. "You've never acted like this before."

As usual, Meta Knight made a point by saying nothing and instead unsheathing his familiar gold serrated sword. There was a time that Kirby had wished to have a sword like that - but he'd never gotten any other sword than the simple silver training sword he currently used. Unless he counted the small wooden sword he wielded when he was younger. He'd given up on having a new sword, though he had no doubt Meta Knight would know exactly how to get one.

"Now, take your stance," the knight commanded.

Kirby sighed deeply, exhausted by his resilience, as short-lived as it was. He didn't like arguing... but he still felt on edge and unhappy. "Why do we do this anyway?"

"Do what?"

"You know - fight. This whole 'teaching' thing. For as long as I can remember you've always taught me self-defense, sword-fighting, other skills like those. It was just normal. I never questioned."

Meta Knight paused. This was a new tone; a change to the routine. "You don't question it. It only is."

"What does that even mean? There must be a reason."

"It is not for you to know yet." Those steady yellow eyes seemed to taunt him. Secrets - it was always secrets with Meta Knight.

Kirby felt the automatic urge to apologize, but couldn't quite muster the words. Instead, he just lifted his sword and took the correct fighting stance.

Meta Knight, apparently, wasn't paying attention. The knight's scrutiny had shifted toward the town; his distant eyes reflecting a slight curiosity.

"What?" Kirby followed his gaze. On the slope of the hill before the field, he could see a small figure marching their way. It took a few seconds of their approach before Kirby realized it was Fumu.

"Hi!" he called out, waving cheerfully. Fumu grimaced and waved back. She walked up to the two of them, and it was only then that Kirby realized she was wearing a green scarf despite the warm weather. She looked very nervous about something, immediately drawing Kirby's concern.

"Hi," she greeted Kirby before turning and saying quietly, "Sir Meta Knight, can I talk to you alone?"

Kirby saw the way her eyes flicked to him; furtively, then quickly back. Like whatever she had to say concerned him. His face fell. That wasn't like Fumu, though. She always had time for him, and she always was nice to him.

Meta Knight nodded. "Kirby, wait here." Sorry child, it's not a conversation for you.

The two departed, leaving Kirby to stare after them as they meandered to a nearby tree and conversed in low tones.

Hard as he tried, he couldn't pick up the words, so with a resigned sigh, he stuck his sword in the dirt and turned his back.

He didn't really understand his frustration with his mentor. Many a time he had wondered at the mysterious knight's purposes. As a child he had believed he was being prepared for some great destiny, like the legendary warriors recorded in fairy tales. Even after these fantasies vanished, Meta Knight's motives were a taboo topic. He didn't ask, knowing only that it was something he must learn.

But suddenly, his faith was faltering. As more time passed, with no clear motive in mind, Meta Knight's purpose in training him seemed to lose its imagined significance. These thoughts made him feel guilty, as if he was in some way betraying Meta Knight, and he hated that feeling - but as strongly as he hated it, he could not remove his doubt.

Sighing, Kirby glanced back to the two talking. Their conversation had lowered to secretive whispering. Fumu looked very anxious. Neither seemed willing to divulge the great secret to him, nor even did they notice him. He could probably leave and forego the stressful training session if he truly wanted. Wait... he could. They weren't even looking his way.

But he'd never just left before - Meta Knight would never allow it. If he did, he'd be doubly strict the next time. Kirby carefully stepped back. Meta Knight and Fumu still absorbed in their conversation. Surely the session couldn't be that important?

According to Meta Knight, none of them had any reason - so there was no reason to stay. Kirby backed up slowly, like they would suddenly notice and get angry at him for disobeying. When neither spoke up - or even seemed to care he was leaving, he turned and simply walked away.

* * *

><p>Meta Knight was not one to speak very much, but Fumu knew by the steadiness of his gaze that she had his rapt attention. Intuitively, he always knew when something was wrong.<p>

"Do you remember when you warned me about Marx? You said he gave you a bad feeling."

He nodded.

"Well, you were right." She unwound her scarf hesitantly. When her fingers brushed the sore spots, it only served as a reminder of how afraid she'd been at that moment, despite her resolve to tell Meta Knight with some amount of detached dignity. Her concern was over Kirby, after all - not herself. She hated being a damsel in distress.

"He was so rude from the moment he moved it: insulting me, disrespecting all of us. It made me so angry. I thought he'd listen if I just laid down some rules. But he did this..."

It was difficult to perceive emotion with his mask, but that narrowing of his eyes was impossible to miss as he appraised the bruises. "He attacked you," Meta Knight said flatly.

Inexplicably, Fumu's eyes threatened to water and she reminded herself, _You're helping Kirby._ She cleared her throat. "He tried to choke me, all because he didn't want to listen to me."

"Like a child."

"Childish or not, it's nothing to take lightly!"

Her eyes were definitely blearing, defying her will. She blinked furiously.

"I did not mean it that way," Meta Knight remedied. "He's frightened you?" Somehow it wasn't a question.

She clenched her jaw and fixed her tear-blurred eyes toward a random point in the air to her left. "I'm okay. It's Kirby we should worry about."

His hand withdrew from his cape and settled gently upon her shoulder for the briefest moment. "There is no wrong in admitting weakness. It makes us human."

Then she really was crying. It was subdued and soon over, while Meta Knight waited patiently. She soon recovered, and wiped her eyes with her sleeve angrily.

"Sorry. You must think I'm such an idiot, crying over something simple like this."

"On the contrary. It's admirable to allow yourself to feel emotions fully. Nor do I believe this is a simple matter - As he has physically harmed you, I would say it's very serious."

"I know... And because of the way he's clinging to Kirby. You know, don't you? That Kirby's met him again?"

"I saw them. And he told you, I presume?" Meta Knight said, thinking Marx must have informed her before leaving.

"He couldn't keep it from me... He felt guilty about running into Marx at Kawaski's, even though he said he didn't mean to say anything to him. Apparently Marx decided it wasn't going against Kirby's promise as long as Kirby didn't talk to him, that cheat!" Fumu said bitterly.

Meta Knight's hands subconsciously clenched into fists within the folds of his cape as he realized the meaning of the misinterpretation. Marx arriving at Kirby's house was not the first time they'd seen each other again. And Fumu most likely did not know where he'd spent the night.

Fumu continued, "I don't trust him - especially around Kirby."

"Do you think there is a reason he does not socialize with the other villagers, only Kirby?" he pressed.

Her expression hardened. "Yes. He doesn't care about the other villagers - but for some reason, he's interested in Kirby. I don't know why, but I don't like it. Please, I don't know if I can convince Kirby that Marx really is dangerous. Can you talk to him?"

"...Perhaps it would be better if you talked with Kirby."


	9. Chapter 9

**Leech**

Chapter 9

Kirby wandered aimlessly through the streets of the town, not sure where he really wanted to go. He'd like to hang out with Fumu, but she was talking with Meta Knight. One of the villagers, who had evidently thought it a great idea to set up a flower stand and become a flower vender, noticed his lack of a destination and enthusiastically encouraged him to buy a bundle of flowers.

In order to escape the deluded vender, he went ahead and bought the bundle before sticking them in someone's empty flower pot and hurrying away before the vender could persuade him to buy more. His feet led him to the castle, where he then thought it would be a good idea to stop by and visit with the servants.

Of course, the language barrier prevented him from talking to any of them, but they were always nice to him. They seemed to really enjoy their jobs, too, so were eager to cook him whatever he wanted.

After a lengthy meal - where the servants continued tried to get him to eat more - Kirby finally escaped to the outdoors again. He hadn't seen any sign of Meta Knight or Fumu yet. Part of him wanted to come across Meta Knight again, since by now he was feeling guilty about just leaving the training session like that. The other part of him wanted to avoid any sort of confrontation.

Eventually his wandering led him near the border again; that is, nearby the gate where he'd first crossed the border. To his surprise, Marx was sitting with his back against the gate, his legs drawn up near his chest, and was chewing happily on the end of a Slim Jim.

"I thought you were training with Meta Knight," Marx said, raising an eyebrow as Kirby approached.

"I was..."

"Oh, so you're on a break or something?"

"It didn't go well," Kirby admitted. "I left early."

"Aw." Marx attempted to make a sympathetic face that really only ended up looking somewhat painful. As if realizing this, he just shook his head and went back to nibbling on his Slim Jim.

Privately, Kirby was glad Marx didn't ask him what happened. He didn't really want to think about it. He sat down with his back to the town. "Hey Marx, is it okay if I ask you something?"

"Aside from that? Shoot."

"Remember when we were at Kawaski's, and you wanted to tell me about Meta Knight?"

"Do you want to hear it now?" Marx asked, looking almost too hopeful.

Whether Kirby was annoyed at Meta Knight or not, however, he still had the respect not to go inquiring about his privacy. "No... But I thought of something else you might know. When I went across the border, I was surprised I didn't find any demons - but you laughed at me for thinking there would be. Ever since then, I've been wondering about it..."

Marx chewed on the end of his Slim Jim thoughtfully. "Mm, yes I did."

"Do you mean there really are no demons out there?" Kirby murmured, amazed.

"Just out of curiosity," Marx said, pointing his snack at Kirby, "how long have you thought there were only demons?"

"Well, my whole life..."

Marx laughed coldly. "Dreamland is full of idiots."

Kirby lowered his head, not sure if he should be insulted or put down. "I don't get it. Always we've been told, without a doubt, that Dreamland is the only safe place. How can it be any different?"

"You've been lied to. Or maybe the people that came up with the lie are dead no, and everyone else believes it's true. I wouldn't know."

"But you do know about the outside world, right?" Kirby pressed, watching Marx carefully.

"A bit."

"... Can you tell me about it?"

Marx sighed and leaned against the tree. "Well, it isn't all that pleasant. There is a war, between three sides. And nobody knows what side they should be on."

"So, there's other civilizations, like Dreamland?"

"Bigger. Picture Dreamland, if you duplicated it thousands of times over. It's that, and more. Different planets. And everyone is involved in the war. Except Dreamland, that is."

Kirby eyes were wide as disks as he tried to comprehend the vastness of the universe as Marx told it. The amount of people it must encompass.

"What are they fighting over?"

"Depends on the side. There's the GSA - a pain for everyone. They're all like 'rawr, stay out of our homeland-; except they don't have much homeland to fight for anymore. The GSA - err, that's Galaxy Soldier Army - they have soldiers that come from all around the galaxy. They fight for the people's freedom, and independence to make their own choices."

"Sounds like that's the good side."

Marx clicked his tongue in annoyance. "There is no good or bad side. Well, maybe Zero is the bad. But the GSA is mostly fighting Holy Nightmare."

"Holy Nightmare?" Kirby echoed anxiously. "What's that?"

"It's a whole company that sells manufactured demons, among countless other things you wouldn't even guess. It's run by Nightmare, who wants to establish a dictatorship, and monopolize the entire galaxy."

"Wait, slow down. He wants to do what?"

Marx laughed. "If the GSA wants freedom, Nightmare wants slavery."

Kirby scrunched up his nose. "I thought you said there wasn't good or bad. It seems like it'd be right to be on the GSA's side."

"Yeah, that's what most thought at the beginning of the war." Marx finished off the Slim Jim, and stared at his empty hand with a lost expression. "Oh..." he murmured.

"At the beginning of the war?" Kirby prompted.

Marx scowled. "I want another Slim Jim."

Kirby sighed. "But what were saying about the war? Why did the opinion about the GSA change?"

Marx waved at him dismissively. "I can tell you any time. Right now, I want a snack."

"You just had one," Kirby said, exasperated.

"Just like you, to think one is enough." Marx shook his head and stood up. He tousled Kirby's hair as if he was a little kid, and laughed when he received an affronted look. "I'll be back."

Several minutes passed before he saw someone approaching - only it wasn't Marx. It was Fumu.

A displaced jealousy surged - then he saw the dark, frightening stripe of bruising on her neck, and the way her red-rimmed eyes implied she'd just been crying. The green scarf was held limply in her hand. Horror and concern quickly overrode any other feeling. He hurriedly stood.

"Fumu!"

"There's something I need to talk to you about," she said, stopping in front of him.

"What happened?" Kirby peered at the bruising anxiously, touching her shoulder with the greatest delicacy even though there were no injuries there.

"That's... what we need to talk about."

* * *

><p>Marx was just heading back when he spotted Fumu standing with Kirby, and his eyes narrowed. She was twisting her fingers together and avoiding Kirby's eyes. Well, somehow he knew if he allowed the conversation to continue, it might lead to unpleasant complications.<p>

Quietly, he slunk up behind her and hurried around her to stand next to Kirby. Clasping his hands neatly behind his back like a student reciting lines, he fixed upon his face a self-conscious, unsure expression.

"I'm not... interrupting anything, am I?" he simpered. He saw the way she tensed in response to his presence - and oh, not wanting to offend, cried,

"No!" It was strangely loud.

Kirby looked confused.

"Good," Marx purred. "Well, didn't you say you wanted to talk to Kirby? Go on. Just pretend I'm not here."

"Um, Marx, if you don't mind... I think she wants to talk to me alone"

Marx suddenly noticed the darkened skin on her neck. "Well, would you look at that," he exclaimed, "those are some freaky marks on your neck, you know." Intrigued, he slunk closer.

She glimpsed that look in his eyes; that unnatural, hungry look. Instinctively, she backed up until her shoulder blades pressed against the cold wall.

"Hmmm... they look almost like strangulation marks..." Thin fingers hovered over her collar bone. She couldn't move. "Something like..."

They closed around her throat, perfectly covering the bruises with the tips of his thumbs just barely overlapping. A knowing smirk settled comfortably on his lips as his eyes met hers. "Yeah, that feels about right."

Her heart beat erratically against his fingers.

"Marx, _what are you doing?_" Kirby grabbed his shoulder roughly. It was enough to snap Fumu from her petrified daze and she ripped from Marx's grip.

She glared fiercely at him. "Kirby, _he's_ the one that tried to strangle me!"

"Wh-what?" Kirby looked at him in disbelief. "No, he wouldn't-"

"He did - he attacked me last night - and _laughed_ about it!"

Kirby staggered away from Marx. "What? Marx, why-?"

He rounded on Fumu. "Oh, act like it was all my fault! Sure, don't tell him what _you_ did!"

Even her fear was overcome by anger; "What _I_ did?"

But Marx ignored her, instead turning to plead with Kirby, "Please listen Kirby, it wasn't really my fault..."

"Don't listen to a word he says!"

"She's not being all the way honest-"

"Stop!" Kirby cried, throwing his hands over his ears. "Please, just stop! What happened?"

Fumu said, "he just attacked me for no reason - _after_ he called me rude names!"

"I was provoked," Marx retorted.

Kirby looked between the two, confused.

"Please, Kirby..." Marx seized his shirt suddenly, dragged him close, and breathed softly into his ear, "I was defending you. Meta Knight - she said she could relate to Meta Knight better - more intelligent - she felt closer to him-"

Her courage was not such that she was willing to physically pull them apart, but she grabbed Kirby's wrist angrily. "I said don't listen to anything he says! He's a liar!"

"So yes," Marx recoiled from Kirby, "I attacked you! But the things you were saying about Kirby - how could I not be angry? At least I'll be honest."

"Honest?"

"A hundred percent." The dominating glower he then fixed upon her froze her blood. Any words of retort died on her lips.

Mournfully, Kirby studied Fumu's timid countenance. Would she really say those things about him? No - she was Fumu, she never treated him badly. At the same time, he remembered that glance she'd given him before speaking with Meta Knight. And wondered to himself if ever he'd missed glances just like that one. Situations where maybe she hadn't been as eager to see him as he thought.

And Meta Knight... maybe it would explain his coldness, right? They were of the same opinion; they could relate to each other better.

He hated confrontations. He just wanted to go back to his circular house and go to sleep for a bit. "Look... I don't want you guys fighting, okay?" he said tentatively.

"I understand," Fumu replied, "but Kirby, as your friend, I'm worried about you..."

Marx stuck out his tongue. "Well, I don't like it - but if you don't want us to fight, then I won't bother her again."

"And you shouldn't be letting _him_ convince you of all these lies," she finished in a much louder tone than she'd begun her sentence. She avoided Marx's eyes, afraid that that look would return and she would lose her nerve again. Nonetheless, she was aware of him watching her calmly.

"Kay," he said gently, "we can agree to disagree, Fumu and I. I'm sorry for what I did, and it doesn't need to become a huge argument."

"No," Fumu said shortly. "I'm not leaving until _you_ leave Kirby alone!" She dared to look back at Marx, her eyes filled with hatred. His were satisfied.

"All right." Marx raised his hands up, and slowly backed away. "Back to my house, I guess. See? Not bothering Kirby."

"Wait, what? Marx, that doesn't mean you have to actually leave..." Kirby protested. Marx winked at him, then turned and simply walked away.

Fumu let out a deep breath, suddenly aware of how much her hands were trembling. She said aloud, "Good. Trust me, Kirby - he means no good."

Quietly, "You didn't even listen to what I wanted..."

She frowned at him. "Don't worry, Kirby; it's for the best if you don't see him again."

"You didn't actually say those things about me, did you?"

"What things?"

Kirby looked at his feet. "That you really feel closer to Meta Knight. It's okay, if you do - I just want you to be truthful with me."

Fumu gaped. So that was what he had said. "No," she breathed. "No, Kirby, you know you're my best friend. Marx was just lying, I'm telling you, that's all he does."

Somehow, her faith didn't manage to invest itself in Kirby.

* * *

><p>It took only until that night for him to realize why Marx had not more vehemently protested against the sleeping arrangements. He returned to his house to find the blanket and pillow which had been on the floor back on the bed, and Marx crawling in.<p>

He was partially relieved and partially upset with the events. He had thought for a while that Marx truly had gone back to live at his house, and spend a good portion of the day wondering if he should go and knock on his door and apologize for the confusion.

On the other hand, Marx technically wasn't supposed to be sleeping in his bed.

"You're back!" Kirby exclaimed, his relief winning over for the moment.

"Of course. I'm not leaving just because that c... because Fumu told me to."

"That's good. But uh, Meta Knight said you're staying on the floor." He received a dry, flat glance in return. Marx propped himself on the pillow while laying down and made no effort to move to the floor.

"You gotta move."

Marx shrugged. "According to Meta Knight."

"Yeah, and if you're living in my house, you have to follow his rules."

"You didn't act that way this morning," remarked Marx, looking very displeased about the other's words.

Kirby muttered, "That's different. I couldn't let you go back to your house."

"You can't let me sleep on the floor, oh no."

"C'mon Marx, you agreed to it too."

"It's this beautiful thing called lying, Kirby. If you weren't so hopelessly idiotic, you'd know how to use it."

"I'm not idiotic, and we already had this discussion! I won't lie to Meta Knight."

"No, you're right - it'd just be not mentioning the truth."

"I won't do that either," protested Kirby.

"Aww..." Marx frowned and gave his best sad puppy face.

"No," Kirby said firmly. "I'm going to change into my pajamas, and when I come back here you better be on the floor, okay?"

"Hmph." Marx crossed his arms and shrugged, which Kirby took to be the most agreement he would get out of him - for the moment, at least.

Eventually, Kirby assured himself, he would learn to respect his values and the importance of honesty. More or less satisfied, he went to the bathroom to change, fully expecting the other to move to the floor in that time.

Marx promptly fluffed the pillow and burrowed under the covers, curling up on his side.

Kirby returned to find him in the same position, having happily hijacked his bed. A single purple eye was half-opened, observing Kirby with a mirthful glint, to gauge his reaction.

The blonde glared back. "Go on the floor! I'm not messing around - we told Meta Knight you'd sleep on the floor."

"I don't like the floor."

"That's not what you said to Meta Knight. If you hadn't lied, we could've found a better alternative."

"Well, if you hadn't made a promise, if you didn't have to stick to it, then it wouldn't matter anyway."

"It matters to me, you jerk!"

Though Kirby intended the words to be intimidating, Marx just burst out laughing. "Jerk? You're sixteen and you still call people jerks? Heh, at least it's better than _meanie._"

Kirby clenched his fists, anger coloring his cheeks. "I've never needed to swear, I won't need it now!"

"Sure, sure, but if you go around calling people 'meanie,' don't come crying to me when they make fun of you."

"I said jerk!"

Marx rolled his eyes, "Sure, whatever."

"Anyway, the villagers wouldn't make fun of me - not that I'd ever insult them either, they're not as mean as you."

"Meanie," Marx coughed, then muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'mindless zombies,' though Kirby didn't get what he meant by that.

Very loudly, he replied, "I'm tired. Give my bed back."

"I'm tired," Marx mimicked in a high-pitched voice. He pulled the covers up till only his mischievous eyes peeked out, shaded by his black hair. The tips of his jester hat lay back, resembling an animal's ears flatted pitifully against its head.

"C'mon," Kirby whined.

"C'mon," he imitated, before adding, "Sleep on the floor."

"It's my bed!"

"I thought we established it was mine last night."

"What? No!"

"Hm. Sleep on the floor."

Kirby groaned and tugged on his hair in frustration. "YOU sleep on the floor!"

"I would, but unfortunately I broke both my legs and am incapable of moving. I'm quite disappointed too."

"Get off!" Kirby shouted.

"Get off," Marx whined. His unrelenting eyes just stared back, dancing with humor.

Letting out a furious cry, Kirby turned on his heel and stalked out of his house, slamming the door behind him. He stormed towards the castle with every intention of telling Meta Knight of Marx's belligerence. But eventually the fire in his blood cooled. His footsteps slowed and his more reasonable thoughts gained back control.

He realized with shock that it had been a very long time since he'd ever been that mad. At the same time he noticed how chilly the night wind was.

Shivering, he looked towards the castle. He had overreacted a little, he knew. It really was only a small matter, but Kirby was very adamant about lying - neither did Marx have any right to act so rudely. Though, it was only a tiny incident...

Kirby contemplated going to the castle as he had planned, for then he could get Meta Knight involved and get his own bed back. But then he'd have to explain Marx's misbehavior, which might lead Meta Knight to do something drastic (knowing the knight's pre-existing dislike).

If he went to Fumu's house to sleep for the night, she would inevitably question why, and then word would get around to everyone. Either way Meta Knight would learn about it, and Kirby wanted to avoid that... It wasn't like he could sleep outside though.

Reluctantly, Kirby turned his gaze back homeward. In the shadowy distance, he could see the vague outline of his circular house.

For just one more night, he decided. Then he would find another alternative for Marx - find _something._ Even if it meant Marx would have to move back to his own house. Kirby didn't particularly mind his presence, but something had to change if he continued to ignore Meta Knight's rules.

Kirby slunk back to his house, glad that at the moment Meta Knight could not see his moment of weakness, and yet ashamed for feeling that way.

Marx had already turned out the lights and gone back to bed by the time he returned, so Kirby silently entered, closed the door behind him, and used the light of the moon to find his way.

"Scoot over," he whispered. Though he gave no verbal reply, Marx immediately shifted so there was more room. Quietly, Kirby climbed in and curled up next to him. He wasn't surprised when the other's welcoming arms encircled his midsection, as if he'd been expecting Kirby's return. As if he expected it without a doubt.

His assurance was insulting. Kirby muttered crossly, "You smell bad." This statement was indeed true - Kirby hadn't noticed it so much the previous night because of his exhaustion, but now it was rather obvious.

Marx just giggled. "You smell good."

"No, seriously. When was the last time you took a shower?"

"Fumu tried to make me. And to wash my clothes. But I told her I didn't have any extras."

"... Okay, so when did you last take one?"

Kirby felt Marx shrug behind him. "I dunno."

"Eeww!" Kirby shoved his arms off and shot to the opposite side of the bed, flipping around to glare. "That's disgusting, Marx! Take a shower, _now_."

"What? Why?" Marx made 'gimmie' hand motions for Kirby to come back.

"There's a problem if you don't remember the last time you took a shower. Gah, no wonder you smell."

"So I'll shower tomorrow."

"Or now."

"Tomorrow."

"Please," Kirby moaned, clutching his forehead. He was getting a headache.

"Then give me your clothes," Marx demanded.

"...What?"

"Unless you'd rather me put this back on? Or wash it in the shower too? Although... it might fall apart."

"Oh! Sorry." Kirby shuffled over to his dresser and dug through his pajamas in the hopes he'd find something Marx would be content to wear. "They might be a little small," he called over his shoulder. "But, it looks like you prefer it that way."

"This was not a style choice," Marx muttered bitterly, picking at his too-short sleeves.

"Aha!" Kirby pulled out a pair of simple purple pajamas. "Here, use these. We can pick up your own pj's from your house tomorrow."

"You misunderstood. I have no other clothes."

"Haha, enough jokes. C'mon, just take a shower please, I'm tired."

"No, really." Marx picked up the pajamas and nodded approvingly before heading to the shower. "I have no clothes. This is it, and I have a shitty enough job keeping it together."

"You... only have one outfit?"

"Isn't that what I just said? Though sometimes I find bits of fabric - or use my blanket - and patch it up like it is," Marx said with some amount of pride, poking at the awkward, badly-sewn multi-colored patches.

"I thought you just liked your clothes that way..."

Marx looked insulted. "'That way?' What's wrong with them? I did good with them."

"I didn't mean that in a bad way... But Marx, we have to get you new clothes to wear, I can't believe you don't have any other outfits."

"Mm, but I like this one. I don't really care."

"Wouldn't you want something different to wear? Even sometimes?"

Marx frowned and tugged at the sleeves. "Maybe something that fits."

"All right, then it's decided. Tomorrow, we'll go to the tailors and get you something new." Kirby yawned wide. "Now please, can I go to sleep?"

"Myep!" Marx scrambled off the bed and darted into the bathroom.

Kirby finally lay back down, exhausted. He was almost asleep when a loud shriek erupted from the bathroom and he nearly fell off his bed in surprise. He rushed to the door. "Marx, are you okay?"

The door opened a crack, and Marx stuck out his head, his black hair slicked down and dripping and his eyes widened. "You have shampoo," he breathed, as if this designated Kirby as the holy messiah.

"Uh, yes..."

"You have _shampoo,"_ he repeated. To prove his point, he thrust his hand out and waved the wet shampoo bottle in his face.

"Yes, yes!" Kirby cried. "I have shampoo, I see it!"

"I'm using it!" Marx snapped in a burst of sudden ferocity.

"S-sure," Kirby nodded, bewildered. "You're supposed to."

"Oh." He looked at the bottom and smiled pleasantly. "Thanks!"

The door promptly slammed in his face. Kirby wandered back to his bed, mystified. Ten minutes later, Marx re-emerged wearing Kirby's pajamas and grabbing chunks of his soaked hair so he could smell it.

"Uh, you like my shampoo?" Kirby asked.

"I don't think my hair has ever smelled so good," he responded.

"You don't have any shampoo at your house either, do you?" Kirby said slowly.

"Newp." Marx flicked off the light and clambered onto the bed.

"I have more in the cupboard. If you want, you can have one... We could even get you more while we're out tomorrow - or anything else you need."

Marx hummed to himself and gave no other reply, but it sounded like a content noise to Kirby.


	10. Chapter 10

**Leech**

Chapter 10

When he woke the next morning, before consciousness had fully returned and with his thoughts still ensnared in the slow-fading kingdom of dreams, he didn't know where he was. Dreamland, because he never was anywhere else but Dreamland. In his own circular house, because he never slept anywhere but his own circular house with no corners.

Rather, there was someone with him, which must be wrong, because he always woke alone; someone with their arms around him, like they were afraid to let go, should he leave. So, he didn't let himself wake yet; couldn't remember the last time he'd caused that sort of reaction in someone.

The birds outside were really loud. Inevitably they pulled him from sleep as hard as he clung to it.

The arms around him never left. It was only as his eyes blinked open that he recalled why. Of course - Marx had once again refused to go to the floor. His annoyance from the previous night surfaced, though his comfort currently overrode it. Later he could be annoyed. Now he could go back to sleep (assuming those birds would give him enough peace to).

Kirby shifted to get more cozy. Unfortunately, this motion caused Marx to twitch and make a small noise of protest. Kirby froze, waiting for him to go back to sleep. No such luck.

"Nnn... You're too warm," the drowsy Marx whined. He withdrew his arms and prodded Kirby's back. "Go away."

"Stop, that hurts. Can't we sleep more? It's early still."

"Nuh uh." Since the prodding had not produced the desired results, Marx fisted him hard in the center of his spine, causing Kirby to yelp out and arc his back.

"Ow, fine, fine." He hastily got up, rubbing his bleary eyes, and peered down to find the other had curled back up by himself and closed his eyes. "Hey!"

"What? My bed my rules."

"Not this again..."

Marx opened one eye and met his gaze while keeping the other firmly shut. "You're the one that won't stop bringing it up."

Kirby sighed. "C'mon. You said we'd go to the tailor. Don't you want to do that?"

"Five minutes."

The tailor ended up being an unpleasant trip, what with Marx incessantly squirming and snapping at the lady sizing him, then her trying to scold him, which led to Kirby privately trying to talk Marx out of "sticking her full of her own damn pins like a nice pin-cushion-voodoo-doll, see how she likes it!"

Then Marx got over-excited about the shade of purple cloth he found in the store. Kirby thought it was exactly identical to the color Marx already wore, but according to him, it was significantly different in _his_ color spectrum. And significantly important. Kirby decided not to question why Marx's color spectrum was different than others.

The tailoring escapade ended only when his clothes were designed to his great satisfaction: they were essentially the same as what he'd worn before, except that the sleeves actually reached his wrists and there were no random patches of mismatching fabrics. Unfortunately, Marx complained vehemently to the lady about her service anyway, and she kicked them out of the shop very upset-like.

Marx was pleased: he'd gotten his outfit.

Kirby was feeling unnecessarily stressed, however, and guilty about irritating the tailor. Somehow he should've prepared Marx for going to the shop, since he'd known Marx wasn't good at social things like that. He also was concerned that Marx now only had one outfit that fit him properly, though he kept quiet on that so as not to ruin Marx's mood. He could bring it up later.

They also dropped in on several other stores, one for toiletries. Marx went around the entire shop smelling every single kind of shampoo before selecting the very same one Kirby usually bought.

At lunch time, they went to Kawaski's again, even though Marx didn't seem to like his food. It provided a good opportunity for Kirby to inquire about the war again, where Marx had left off before, as he ate his own meal.

"So, you were talking about the GSA and Nightmare..." Kirby prompted.

"I was?"

"Don't you remember? You said that people weren't sure what side they should be on, and I wondered why."

Marx grinned. "Ah, yes. I remember now. That everyone you'd call 'good' sided with the GSA at the start."

"Exactly! Why did it change?"

"Simple." Marx rested his chin on his hands. "The GSA is going to lose. And Nightmare has a poor chance of winning."

Kirby paused mid-bite, raising an eyebrow.

"Zero," Marx uttered. "Zero is going to win - that's my bet, at least. You see, the GSA may be the whole righteous cause, fighting for their independence and freedom as they are... But, righteousness doesn't count for much if you're dead. The GSA can hardly afford shoes for their soldiers - and interstellar travel?" Marx laughed. "Not so much. They're almost all grounded now; the ships they do use are outdated, the-"

Kirby looked up abruptly. "Ships?"

"Sure. War ships. Big vessels."

"Like... the boats that go on the lake?" Kirby tried. He knew it wasn't what Marx was referring to, but at the same time... Ships that could travel across stars?

"Like the boats that go on the lake, except a lot bigger. And they fly. Anyway - they can't afford their own war, and between death and deserters, they don't have all that many soldiers either. If they did win the war... what then? They don't have jack to rebuild a single country, forget a bunch of planets."

"Why doesn't their king fund them?" Kirby said in confusion. He knew, of course, that the king might be like Dedede, and unwilling to extend favors... but still, for the GSA's cause, you'd think he'd do something.

"You really don't know anything," Marx replied flatly. "There is no king, Kirby. No money wrapped in cute little bundles to drop everywhere."

"Oh..." He quietly went back to eating, trying to fathom how such a large place could ever get along without a king.

Marx drawled, "You could almost say... Nightmare would be the king, if he would win the war. And if _he _wins - well, he has the resources and power to boost all the planets screwed up by war. He could bring order upon the galaxies. Unite them under one ruler. He promises wealth, order - a dictatorship where everything is decided for the people by him. An absolute dictator certainly seems promising after such confusion and devastation in leadership, that the GSA has."

"So, you're on Nightmare's side?" Kirby inquired.

"No, I hate the guy. I'm only telling you why the GSA isn't looking so pretty any more to people."

Kirby nodded to show that he understood. "Okay, I get that. But you mentioned someone named Zero?"

Marx's expression darkened. Normally as he spoke, he was animated and got into the topic with gestures and comparisons, or at least had a look of mischievous glee in his eyes. All that was completely gone. "Yay. Zero."

He let his hands rest on the table, task-less.

"What's wrong with Zero?" Kirby was almost afraid to ask, since he'd never seen such a reaction from Marx. He didn't even realize that he'd set down his fork; so absorbed that he'd ceased eating.

"Everything," Marx spat. "But, he'll win."

"Why?"

Marx scooted his chair back slightly so he could draw his legs up to his chest. He rested his arms over his knees and stared sightlessly at the table. "Zero can't be defeated. He's not like Nightmare or the GSA. They both have weaknesses, see? Everyone has a weakness; something that you can manipulate or control. Something you can exploit. Zero doesn't."

Dread and fascination had their mixed effects upon Kirby. He longed to question Marx for every single detail of who and what Zero was, and everything he knew of him. At the same time, Marx's reaction by just _talking_ about him was unnerving. If anything, he'd interpret it as fear... But he'd never seen Marx afraid.

Marx ended up continuing on his own, and Kirby wasn't even sure he was talking to him anymore. "See?" he said softly. "Zero doesn't wait for anything. He gets a plan and he sticks to it exactly until the end, and he's effective and unavoidable. Once he decides something - you can't do a single thing. He'll never gloat, he'll never give up, he'll never get distracted. He just does."

"If he's that good, why hasn't he won yet?" Kirby said in amazement.

Marx shrugged. "He'll win once it suits him."


	11. Chapter 11

**Leech**

Chapter 11

"You're late again."

"I kept messing up the same move again... I don't get it - I should have it perfected, but I keep making mistakes. I don't get why Meta Knight doesn't just give up, I'm so bad."

"Or why it matters at all?"

"... Sometimes I wonder that too."

"Maybe Meta Knight's just reliving some glory days or something. Y'know - them good ol´ days of knights and lances and such. It's his weird gratification."

"No, Meta Knight wouldn't be like that. There has to be another reason. One that would explain him."

"No? Damn. Well, then I'd say he's getting you ready for the outside world."

"What?"

"Yeah, I thought it was a weird way to go about it too - how are you supposed to learn anything without first hand experience? Anyway, it seems counterproductive: bring you to Dreamland so you're all oblivious, then wean you away from it? Stupid."

"No, I mean... What? Prepare me for the outside world? You don't mean the war?"

"Oh. Yeah, sure. You didn't realize that?"

"How do you know? That's not what he's doing."

"Oh ya? I bet you it is. Unless he has nothing better to do than stalk people and teach little children violent things. Then there's no other explanation."

"You make him sound creepy."

"He is creepy. Who else wears a mask that they never take off?"

"But why would he need me to know these things at all? I'm never going to leave Dreamland."

"So you think."

"But I'm not."

"You don't think, at some point or another, circumstances might change so you have to leave?"

"No, this is my home."

"A lot of people mistake a place they've lived a long time as their home. Yes, I would know."

"But this isn't just somewhere I've lived a long time. It's much more special than that. I'm really happy here."

"How would you know you wouldn't be happy elsewhere, if all you've known is Dreamland?"

"Because... I just know. This is where I belong."

"Forever, stuck in paradise, when will you leave - never! Ha, but wait: didn't you say something different before?"

"When?"

"Before."

"No, like specifically-"

"When I first met you. You were excited about leaving the borders. And again, with my stories. You wanted to hear more. You're not as content as you like to pretend."

"I'm content."

"Hey, don't fight me - Go have your internal battles on your own - Myep, poor Marx doesn't wanna get caught in the middle."


	12. Chapter 12

**Leech**

Chapter 12

Kirby and Fumu's friendship suffered no setbacks after the fiasco outside of Kirby's house. They were too close of friends for it to truly stagger, and soon they were hanging out just as before - or at least, almost just as before. Kirby's time was more split, as Marx didn't want to be near Fumu and Kirby was sure Fumu didn't want to be near Marx. Other than that, however, they still saw each other regularly. One of these times, Kirby couldn't help bringing up something that had been bothering him for a while.

"Fumu... do you know anything about the war?"

"What do you mean? There is no war."

"Marx told there was one going on, between three different sides."

She gazed at him uneasily. "There is no war, Kirby..."

"Not in Dreamland," Kirby corrected. "Outside."

Silence. They exchanged a long, solemn look. "He said there might be one?" Fumu echoed.

"He said there is, not just there might be."

Fumu mulled over the information quietly. The statement could easily be discarded under the pretense that Marx was chronic liar - but what reason would he have to lie? And the idea that a war was currently being waged hit too close to the things she was discovering in the library.

"Did he say anything else?" she inquired, at the while regretting asking, for it meant in a way, she was asking for Marx's help.

"A bit. He said he has a friend that tells him what's going on, and that nobody really knows what side they should be on... I just thought you should know."

"Hmm..." Fumu frowned. Assuming Marx was telling the truth, then this proved there was entire world outside of Dreamland: one that ran independently of Dreamland's affairs and waged war and carried on its own. For many years she had wondered about such a place - after all, something had to lay beyond Dreamland's borders. But somehow, her thoughts had never fully encompassed what it may truly be like. And her curiosity had never been greater than her fear.

Whatever the reason, she now knew the villagers were wrong. And Meta Knight knew this all along. But why had he never said? Why did he never say these things, and what exactly was he trying to do?

"Kirby," she said slowly, "Did Marx mention how long this war has been going on?"

"So you believe him?" Kirby brightened a little. "I thought he might be lying at first, since the outside is supposed to be ruined and infested with demons. But then I remembered how when I crossed the border, it felt just like Dreamland."

"Yes, I believe you - him. Did he say when the war started?"

"I don't think so... He made it sound like it's been a long time though - that everyone's tired of the war, but they have to keep fighting." Kirby paused. "Fumu... what are you thinking? You don't know something about this, do you?"

"I might..." she murmured. "Lately, I've been wondering what Meta Knight's up to. He's very reserved - even more than normal - and he keeps acting like there's some secret he can't let us know. Weirdly enough, we were talking a few days ago and he said something about how he hated Marx hanging out with you. The phrasing was odd..." She hesitated, wondering if she should really be telling Kirby this, since he was so sensitive about Meta Knight and Marx's dichotomy. Carefully, "He said you weren't training as much, so I questioned him on why it really mattered. He avoided the topic, again - but it seemed like he was preparing you for something. Something like a war."

Strangely enough, Kirby didn't look very surprised. "I don't think he'd do that," he said - but the words seemed more of a test.

"I'm not positive," Fumu admitted. "It's just speculation. I could be way off."

"But you could be right. What if Meta Knight really does want me to fight? Why wouldn't he tell me something like that?"

Fumu wanted to assure him Meta Knight wouldn't, but at the same time she had her own doubts. His calmness about the subject was also eerie. "Nothing's sure yet," she said, "don't criticize Meta Knight for it."

"I should ask Marx when the war began," Kirby mused, partially to himself. "It might be around the time Meta Knight first started to train me."

"To be fair, he started training you as soon as you were old enough to hold a sword. If the war starts around that time, it'd just be a coincidence."

"Not if it was before he came to Dreamland. Then he could've come here specifically to train me, right?"

"But why?" Fumu said. "Why come to a place of peace to train a soldier - especially at such a young age, and so far from any kind of warfare? We can't come up with concrete theories until we know more." She found Kirby's distrust of Meta Knight startling, considering how he normally sought his approval and attention constantly, despite Meta Knight's cold and strict nature.

"So, we'll find out more." Kirby abruptly stood. "You can keep looking through these books - I'll ask Marx."

"Wait, shouldn't we be more private about this?" Fumu protested - though she wasn't sure exactly what her qualm was with it. They weren't trying to go behind Meta Knight's back - only trying to figure out everything that was going on.

"Private?" Kirby scoffed. "Do you really think Marx will tell Meta Knight?"

Fumu watched his retreating back helplessly. An eerie foreboding hung in the air, but she couldn't pinpoint why she felt such anxiety.


	13. Chapter 13

**Leech**

Chapter 13

Well, he´d said it a thousand times, but Marx was at last standing before the king, getting a job.

The king sat proudly upon his red throne, surveying the newcomer with critical blue eyes. The king was by no means a thin man -rather, the throne only fit his large figure because it was enormous too. But he was clearly a man comfortable with his weight, and bore it with the haughty agility of one who was satisfied with exactly who they were.

Like a hawk, another middle-aged figure stood, observing Marx with much more suspicion.

"So... you´re a jester?"

"Obviously."

Dedede narrowed his eyes. "Don´t speak to me like that! I am your king!"

Marx bowed low. "My apologies, dear king, but you did say you would hire me as a jester."

"Eh? So? You are still a citizen of Dreamland!"

"Undoubtably, but..." Marx rose from his bow and tapped his lips, scrutinizing Dedede thoughtfully. "Surely you know the sort of privileges court jesters get? It seems foolish you´d agree to a deal when you don´t know all the conditions."

"Of course I do!" He snapped. "Errr.. but maybe you could remind me. I want to make sure you know them too."

Marx chuckled. "Certainly, dear king. You, of course, know that jesters are hardly ever to be taken seriously - jokes and entertainment, that´s what we´re here for! If ever I seem  
>disrespectful, it is only my nature! Nothing to take seriously. Unless you´re wanting some honesty that is - I can provide either at your slightest whim."<p>

"Honesty?" Dedede huffed.

Marx stepped forward, grinning, "You see, people are often intimidated by a king such as you, and when they wish to please you, they might... bend the truth a bit, if you know what I mean. A jester, however, never lies when their king asks for truth!"

Now it was undeniable that the idea was beginning to catch on. Still, Dedede was far too prideful to allow himself to be convinced into something he did not initially look favorably upon. Crossing his arms, he said, "You aren´t expecting a bunch of money, are you? We don´t give out handouts here."

"Oh, I have much humbler intentions than that!" Marx exclaimed. "So content as I would be with this job, that I only ask for what meager sustenance I would need to continue my duty."

Dedede stared, confused.

"Food," Escargon supplied irritably. "He wants free food, your majesty."

Dedede frowned. "Not my food! You´re not taking my precious food!"

"Never!" Marx replied swiftly. For a brief moment, he wished to glare at Escargon, but held back. He´d gained better information by the other speaking up than being silent. "Access to your kitchens is all I ask - nothing more... your majesty."

Escargon flinched violently, but Dedede remained oblivious. With food in question, he was still suspicious. "You won´t eat all my good meals, will you? If your appetite is anything like Kirby´s..."

"No worries, your majesty, I´m sure our tastes are quite different, and I will never eat something intended for the king!"

A satisfied smile spread across Dedede´s face, somewhat matching that of Marx´s.

"Sounds like a fair deal," Dedede nodded sagely. Idiot jester, working at no expense of his king!

* * *

><p>After securing his job with the king, Marx decided the next thing he would do was go to the kitchens and get an idea of how things were run there, as well as how easily he could get a decent meal.<p>

He spent a lot of time wandering the hallways in failed attempts to find the kitchens, until at last he came across Bun, who pointed him the right way.

Turning another corner, Marx could suddenly smell the delicious food the servants were cooking at the time. He grinned and set off with new bounce in his step, for he had been beginning to doubt Bun´s instructions and was doubly glad he'd made it alright. Maybe sometime later he'd try to get one specific servant that would only serve him and always be there if he needed something so he wouldn't have to walk to the kitchens every time. For now, though, he was interested in a more 'short term' meal plan.

Marx knew immediately when he came across the doors to the kitchens, for servants were rushing in and out as though in a frenzy. Each time the door opened, the appealing smell of mixed spices, baking bread, and an assortment of other food wafted out the door, accompanied by the salty tang of sweat from the hard-working servants.

They rushed by Marx without hardly a sideways glance, often bearing large silver platters. Marx slunk closer to the wall and simply watched them go by for a bit, alarmed at the amount of food being carried out and a little intimidated by the purposeful bustling. It must've been lunch time for the king - yet Dedede hadn't come to the kitchens himself. There had to be a way to order without coming here. Again, Marx resolved to think about that later.

Curiosity soon replaced intimidation. It always did.

He held open the door for a few servants rushing out, then peered in. An enormous stove squatted in the center of the kitchen, capable of cooking perhaps twenty dishes at once, and was tended to by countless servants. Counters lined the walls, with food stacked on top and spices, dishes, and other necessities stored in the drawers. A huge fridge formed the only break in the countertops, aside from a door at the far end where they stored frozen meat.

And everywhere, busy at work, was the multitude of small orange and brown clad people. So fixed upon their work, so dedicated.

With his stomach growling in hunger, Marx slipped all the way into the kitchen, pondering how to go about getting a proper dinner.

It was awkward at first, because the tallest servant hardly came up to his chest, and they pushed and squirmed their way around him with only one goal in mind - make food and it get it where it was supposed to be. Yes, very driven beings. They treated Marx as though he was nothing more than a large rock in the center of the kitchen - he impeded their progress, but they indifferently worked around him.

Fortunately, Marx noticed one servant in particular that seemed to be just endlessly looping the kitchen for lack of a better job. The next time that servant came his way, he lashed out and gripped its arm.

Abruptly, the servant was hyper-aware of Marx´s previously ignored presence. He went "Eep!" in shock and twisted his arm in a weak attempt to free himself. His efforts were interspersed with fast desperate words in a foreign tongue, along with "Eep!"s.

"Calm down," Marx said, annoyed. "How do I order food?"

"Eep!"

Sighing, he spoke louder and clearer. "How. Do I. Order. Food?"

"Eep!"

"Do you speak English? Englais? Englaskessifrass?"

"Eep!" The poor creature looked absolutely petrified and gazed longingly at all his hardworking brethren.

Marx sneered. It was hard to resist the urge to shove the servant into their busy masses. Otherwise he'd have to find another one, and he sort of liked this one. "Great. Does anyone here speak English?" he shouted at the crowd. He hated to be so conspicuous, but it wasn't like he was blending in particularly well anyway.

His inquiry was completely ignored. He would have to ask the king later...

Scowling, he turned to drag the servant out of the kitchen with him when a strong voice suddenly rose above the sounds in the kitchen. "I speak English. What are you doing in my kitchen, disturbing the workers?" A single figure, taller than the servants but wearing their same orange garb and having their same brown eyes, emerged from the crowd. He came up nearly to Marx's shoulders. Despite his size, he had fierce eyes, and a sword was strapped to his side.

Those eyes flickered down to Marx's fingers, wrapped vice-like on the terrified servant's upper arm. Touchy.

Marx released the servant (who hurriedly scurried off) and narrowed his eyes. "I'm hungry."

Captain Doo´s eyebrows raised slightly. He didn't seem at all pleased about the demanding stranger in his midst. "Hungry or not, it's against the rules to barge into the kitchen and disrupt my workers."

"Ah ah," Marx scolded, his playfulness quick to return. "I _am_ allowed here. Maybe your king hasn't gotten around to telling you yet, but I'm the court jester. I have just as much rights to the food as Dedede himself!"

The captain looked suspicious. "King Dedede always tells me of new staffing arrangements. I refuse to have them serve you until I'm sure of your position."

Marx opened his mouth to retort, but at that moment a servant wearing a messenger bag at his hip scurried up. He whispered in that same foreign tongue to his leader before nodding and trotting off.

Captain Doo was shocked. "It... seems as though you weren't lying."

"Nah, really?" Marx hissed sarcastically. "Gosh, I don't get it - everyone always thinks I'm lying. Really, it's so rude to assume those things."

"Very well." Captain Doo gave Marx a stern look. "Everyone who lives at the castle has a meal plan the servants follow. If they want something extra or want any changes, they can contact any one of the messengers to carry notice to the kitchens. Apparently your residence is outside the castle, so I can assign you one of my workers. We'll figure out a way for you to page him. Until then..." Captain Doo looked around before selecting a very small, thin servant from the mass. The two had a small conversation, then Doo turned back to Marx and switched to English.

"This is Enoch. He can help you for today."

Marx eyed the scrawny servant with distaste. "They have names?"

"Every one," Captain Doo said with a hint of pride.

"Even you?"

Doo looked affronted but recovered and held out his hand. "Yes. I´m Captain Doo. You are...?"

"Marx." He tapped his lip thoughtfully, ignoring the captain's gesture. "So, I just order and they listen?"

Captain Doo dropped his arm awkwardly. "They recognize English orders for food, among some other requests, yes."

"Good. Enoch, make a two scoop sherbet ice cream cone and bring it to Kirby's house in five minutes."

Enoch nodded at the simple request and blended back into the crowd.

"Oh also," Captain Doo said, "try not to order excess amounts. It's hard enough on them with Dedede. Though, judging by the ice cream..."

"Yes, yes, I'm a light eater." Marx waved his hand dismissively and headed to the door. He was sick of the captain, hovering over his servants like it was his job to ensure their safety. Maybe it was. But Marx didn't like it. And it was of no matter.

Marx walked in one large circle and returned to the kitchens a few minutes later. Thankfully, Captain Doo had retreated back to wherever he had come.

Marx wandered nonchalantly back into the kitchens and observed each servant as he or her rushed about. The problem with racial monotony, Marx thought to himself, was that every individual was seemingly exactly alike to the next. Or maybe that was self-evident. He didn't care anyway.

Suddenly one particular servant caught his eye. Smiling, he watched that servant for a while. Debating. This one was a girl, with bright brown doe-eyes and a set, obstinate face. Her hair was neatly braided back, so as not to get in her way.

Marx stepped right in front of this doe-eyed servant. Naturally, she tried to skirt around him, and he intercepted with his arm. The servant jumped slightly, then tried to go around his other side. Typical reaction - if there was a 'disturbance´ in their path, go around it. Marx held out his other hand, chuckling quietly at her tactics.

At last the servant faltered. She stepped back and peeked up tentatively.

"Hey, hey, hey," Marx greeted pleasantly. This one didn't seem to be as inclined to "eep!" as the others were, for she did nothing more than fix her steady doe-eyes upon him with inquisitive caution. Simply by chance, he had selected a braver one. Well, he _had_ witnessed her purposefulness. Maybe not completely by chance.

"Do you make... mashed potatoes, things like that?"

She nodded.

"Oh, good. Mm, I´ll have mashed potatoes, with lots of butter."

Nod, nod.

"No, you don't get it. Lots of butter." Marx looked puzzled for a minute, realizing he hadn't actually thought this out well. "What goes well with mashed potatoes?" he asked bluntly.

She pointed across the room to a turkey being prepared for the king.

"Assuming I'm a vegetarian," Marx corrected.

She thought for a minute, then pointed at nearby spiced green beans.

"Eeh not that kind of vegetarian. You know what? Just make the mashed potatoes and... and chocolate cookies! Yes."

Evidently the servants were not supposed to hold any discrimination, for she merely nodded and turned to make the order.

"Oh, and also-" Marx grabbed the doe-eyed servant and forced her to face him. He smiled docilely. "Deliver this to my house, not Kirby's. Got it? Good."


	14. Chapter 14

**Leech**

Chapter 14

Kirby was immensely surprised when he returned home to find that Marx was gone, and instead a small servant with an ice cream cone stood outside his house. It was unusual Marx wasn't there, considering he hardly ever went into town, and he had no where else to go - unless he was still trying to find a job.

"Hello, Enoch," Kirby greeted the servant, having met him before in the kitchens. Captain Doo had introduced him, and Kirby liked to think they were close.

Enoch smiled and offered the cone.

"Is it mine?" Kirby asked, surprised. He hadn't ordered any ice cream, though he happened to notice the ice cream _was_ his favorite flavor.

Enoch shrugged, looked thoughtful, then nodded.

"Thanks," Kirby took the cone and happily licked the pink ice cream. The servants had never actually come to his house before with food, unless they were specifically asked, but maybe Enoch was feeling generous.

"By the way," Kirby said, "Have you seen Marx lately?"

Enoch looked confused, until Kirby elaborated with, "He's tall and skinny, black hair with a little purple at the end... err, wears a jester hat?"

Enoch pointed to the familiar decrepit white house in the distance.

"Yes, that's where he used to live. But where is he now? It's okay if you don't know, I'm just wondering since he hasn't come back from the castle yet and he left a while ago..."

Enoch pointed to the house again.

"Oh." Kirby frowned. "I wonder why he went there... Thanks, Enoch." He patted the servant's head and headed off in that direction.

By the time he reached Marx's house, he had just managed to finish the rest of his ice cream cone.

The few windows that weren't boarded up were all dark, but Kirby knew from past experience that that didn't necessarily mean anything, so he knocked anyway.

Silence.

He tapped his foot. Knocked again. Why Marx never answered his door quickly, he didn't know.

He knocked a third time, louder, thinking that maybe he just couldn't hear him.

When this still yielded no results, he thought that maybe Enoch had misunderstood the question and Marx wasn't home at all. Still, he knelt in front of the front door and opened the mail slot curiously. It was hard to see anything in the half-darkness of Marx's house, especially in comparison to the bright sun outside.

He could vaguely make out the outlines of two closed doors, one being at the very end of the hallway, both with lights on inside. Kirby sighed and was about to leave when the furthest door opened.

With a yelp he leapt away from the mail slot. A few seconds later the front door opened a crack and Marx peered out. "Oh, it's you."

"Do you always answer the door like that?" Kirby asked. "Without opening the door all the way?"

"I like to make sure no intruders are coming into my house."

Kirby raised an eyebrow. "Somehow I get the feeling you don't get many intruders."

Marx stuck out his tongue.

"Well, I'm not an intruder, right?" Kirby joked weakly. "Can I come in?"

"I don't know," Marx drawled, smirking. "How can I be sure you aren't?"

"What? You know I'm not."

"Do I?"

"Of course. There aren't any other Kirbys here. Just me, and you know friends aren't intruders."

Laughing to himself, Marx kicked open the door and disappeared within the darkness of the house.

Kirby entered quietly after him, and went straight to the kitchen, since that seemed to be Marx's most comfortable room for bringing in guests. He at least wasn't opposed to it, as he seemed to be for other rooms.

Sure enough Marx had settled on the chair with a broken leg and was rocking forward and backward playfully with a loud awkward _clunk._

"Anyway, why are you here?" asked Kirby.

"It is my house."

"Yeah, but you stay at mine. You're not moving back in, are you?"

"No. I was... feeling nostalgic. My house isn't that bad. You should visit more often." Marx steepled his hands and surveyed Kirby roguishly.

"There isn't much of a reason to visit," Kirby pointed out. "I see you everyday, and you're hardly ever here any more."

"True." Marx glanced away and ran his finger nonchalantly over the dust on his table. "But I might not be at your house much longer."

"Why?" He wasn't sure why the news bothered him. Maybe because he'd just gotten used to living with another person, and after living alone for so long...

Marx smiled distantly. "I got a job."

"Oh, you did? That's good..." Of course it was good; he'd finally be able to afford his own house, and that was the purpose of him moving out in the first place, right? Living with Kirby was just an accident, since things fell through with Fumu.

"Very good," agreed Marx.

It was quiet for a minute. Kirby broke the silence. "So... where are you working? At the castle?"

"Myep. For Dedede. I'm the court jester."

"Oh, really?" Kirby said, surprised.

"Something wrong?"

"No, I just expected you to go for a different position. Of all the jobs King Dedede could've given you, that's what you picked. It's fitting, but not exactly a powerful position."

A very wicked smile spread across Marx's face, his purple eyes glinting. "Oh, it gets me what I want, Kirby, never fear."


	15. Chapter 15

**Leech**

Chapter 15

"What's wrong?" Kirby asked, as it was quite clear Captain Doo was distressed beyond reason.

"One of our cooks is missing," he uttered, looking lost. "I don't understand... we've looked all over the castle, and the town..."

"Missing?" Kirby echoed. That didn't make any sense. The servants hardly even left the kitchen unless specifically ordered to. In addition, they seemed to possess an innate knowledge of when their captain needed them, and would not delay in coming to his aid. That a servant had failed to do so was strange. "Which one?"

"Eleanor," he supplied. "Have you seen her?"

"Err..." There were probably hundreds of servants. While Kirby knew many, he hardly had the capacity to know every single one of them like Captain Doo did, and he didn't remember Eleanor. "I don't know what she looks like," he admitted.

"She has bangs, two braids... you'd be able to recognize her; she's a little more confident than some of the others, and has black glasses too..."

"I haven't seen her," Kirby said sadly, "but I can ask around to see if anyone has."

"Thank you... I'll... I'll keep looking in the castle."

Thus, Kirby set off down the main street of Dreamland, stopping at every house and asking the same question. Since no one actually _knew_ most of the servants, Kirby explained Eleanor's appearance exactly as Captain Doo had - many times. Always he got the same sort of response - 'No, sorry, haven't seen her,' 'That sounds familiar... I might've seen her with the others once. No, not recently, but-,' The servants leave the castle?' and all manner of responses, none of which indicated where she had last been.

He had just about exhausted his options when the mayor's wife, whom he was questioning at the time, let out a startled "Oh! Why, I have seen her!"

"When?" Kirby inquired, knowing by now the villagers liked to go on long drawn out (something invented) tales of when they had last seen her, only to admit later it had been weeks or even months earlier.

"Just yesterday," she answered promptly. Instantly Kirby was alert.

"Where? What was she doing?"

"Why, I was just watering my flowers outside my house - they need so much water in these warmer months, you know - and a servant matching that exact description walked right by me! I wouldn't have remembered it, since there are so many of those servants wandering about the castle, and as you know, I live very close. But, it was _where_ she was going that really stuck out to me, not so much that I saw her."

"And where was she going?" asked Kirby eagerly.

The mayor's wife frowned. "It was the haunted house, though I can't imagine why. At least, she was heading in that direction..."

"The haunted house?"

"Yes, that one by the border... Creepy place it is. Did you know, I used to pick wild flowers by there? They were the prettiest flowers I ever could find, but the noises I would sometimes hear from that house..." she shuddered. "Needless to say, I don't those beautiful wild flowers any more... Kirby? Are you quite all right?"

Kirby swallowed and tried to compose his expression. "Uhm. Do you know if she _entered _that house, or just headed in that direction, or...?"

She looked at him oddly. "Well, I don't know. I finished watering and went inside. I didn't want anything more to do with the matter."

"And you didn't see anything else?"

"No, that was all. Now, what are all these questions for anyways? Hey!"

For Kirby had leapt up and darted out of her house. It wasn't _suspicion_, no - there wasn't any real thing to suspect Marx of. But Marx_ had_ been at his house yesterday. He also got the privilege of ordering food from the kitchens because of his job, so it was reasonable he had ordered something to be brought to his house. And then, he would have been the last to see her. He would most certainly know where she was. Kirby cursed, realizing he should have asked exactly what time the mayor's wife had seen Eleanor, but already his feet had carried him halfway to Marx's house and he could always go back to ask her later if needed.

He halted on Marx's doorstep and hammered on the door. As was custom, he didn't seem to be in any hurry to answer his visitor, and Kirby spent several long seconds awkwardly waiting. Of course, there was a chance Marx wasn't there at all - it was only yesterday that he'd announced he planned to move back into his own home. Just because he'd slept there the previous night didn't mean he was still holed up in his house. But it was likely.

So he waited, tapping his foot and wondering why it always took him so long to answer his door. After knocking again and stalling for a few minutes, he finally wondered if maybe Marx had wandered elsewhere.

Only then did the knob turn. Marx stuck his head out. "Yess?"

"About time!" Kirby burst out. "I have something important to ask you."

"Oo, consulting the oracle. Alright, here I am, shoot!" He skirted around the frame, shut the door with a snap, and leaned against it. "The oracle is ready to answer the meaning of life."

"Uhm." Kirby stared. "Are you wearing my shirt?"

Marx poked at the simple green T-shirt he wore thoughtfully. "That's a really important question you have there, Kay. But the oracle will answer! Yes, I am. I had to wash mine."

"Oh." Kirby wisely chose not to complain, since that would probably result in Marx griping at him and deciding to never wash his shirt again. "I'm trying to find one of the servants, Eleanor. The mayor's wife told me she saw her walking this way yesterday - and she was the last person to see her."

"Ah, that sounds like a better question," Marx nodded. "And since I was here..."

"Did you see her?" Kirby said eagerly.

"I'm not familiar with the name... describe her."

Letting out the tiniest sound of annoyance (could Marx not just say if he had seen a servant around his house at all?), Kirby repeated again what Captain Doo had told him.

"Hm..." Marx squinted his eyes and screwed his expression up as if looking deep within himself for an answer found only in the depths of his mind. "No... can't say that I've seen a servant like that."

"No?" Kirby's heart sunk. "You didn't order anything yesterday?"

"Well, of course I did. I do have to eat. But it was a different servant, ah-" Marx waved his hand dismissively, "what was his name, Ender, Epris, Eaugh - can't remember now. I get them all mixed up. No braids though."

"And you didn't see her?"

Marx pointed at his boarded windows meaningfully. Sighing, Kirby slumped against the side of the house. If she hadn't been bringing food to Marx, where could she have possibly gone? There was literally nothing else this far from town.

"You know what it could be?" Marx murmured abruptly, eyes widening.

"Huh?"

"What if she left... _with the_ _intention of going beyond the border?"_

"But why? There'd be no reason."

"No, no, hear me out. Maybe she heard about _your_ success and wanted to see the outside for herself."

Kirby frowned deeply. "I guess... that could be possible."

"S'the only option," shrugged Marx.

"Then I have to search there," Kirby resolved, not without a small thrill. He hadn't been past the border since that first time. It was only about midday; that left him with (hopefully) plenty of time to find Eleanor before nightfall.

"Myep. Have fun."

"Wait, do you want to help me search?" Kirby asked. After all, two would be better than one, both to go across the borders and to look for Eleanor.

"Uhh..." Marx's eyed lolled back to his house before traveling to Kirby again. "Hmm... well, I guess so."

With this, they headed towards the gates, Kirby leading eagerly and Marx trailing behind with a bored expression on his face. They stopped at Kirby's house to fetch a sword and food, then departed past the gates.

They exhausted the day in search of Eleanor, and as the stilted sunlight filtering through the treetops began to darken to a deep gold, then the first streams of navy blue, Kirby at last halted and leaned against a tree. Not a single sign of her had been found; no tracks, no low broken branches, no bits of clothes that would have gotten caught on sharp bark, not a peep of response to their ceaseless calling. Nothing. It would seem as if she had never left the gates.

"I don't get it," Kirby sighed. "I was so sure we would find her. Now I'll have to go back and tell Captain Doo that we failed..." Abruptly, he noticed a familiar small white flower with gently curling leaves. Narcao. He'd seen it periodically during their trip; it grew in ridiculous abundance everywhere in the forest around Dreamland. Absentmindedly, he plucked the flower and twirled it between his fingers.

"It's like she vanished," Marx agreed beside him. "Poof. Kind of mysterious, actually."

"Yeah..."

"I mean, if she isn't in Dreamland, and she's not outside... Heh, do you think Captain didn't just miscount? He's gotta have like a thousand of those guys."

Kirby shot him a stiff look. "No, he wouldn't 'miscount.' He knows every single one of the servants."

"So I've seen," Marx muttered.

Kirby arced his neck back and gazed at the slit of sky he could see, rapidly turning black. "We'd better get back."

His voice sounded just as defeated as he felt. Marx was right - it was mysterious, and strange. The only people that had ever gone _missing_ in Dreamland were the ones that had gone across the border and vanished. But that hadn't happened in Kirby's lifetime. Plus, Kirby and Marx had never just _vanished_. He thought again of the demons he had been warned of in his childhood, shadowy beasts that would snatch you up when you would least expect it, with horns and claws and lethally sharp teeth. A shudder travelled down his spine.

"Let's go home."


	16. Chapter 16

**Leech**

Chapter 16

It was peaceful. But lonesome. Kirby sat outside of Dreamland's gate - for some reason, it had become a comfortable place for he and Marx to go to sometimes, away from the bustling villagers and with a clear view of the endless blue sky.

Only this time, Kirby was by himself - he'd woken up that morning alone, which was strange in itself, but nobody seemed to be able to tell him where Marx was. He'd only assumed that when Marx finally felt like showing up again, he'd come to the gate. Fortunately, he'd predicted correctly - after only a few minutes of being entirely alone, Marx came striding up, a confident smirk on his face.

"Where have you been all day?" Kirby inquired, looking up at the other and shading his eyes from the sun.

"Wouldn't _you_ like to know?" replied Marx cryptically.

"... Can't you just tell me?"

"That would defeat the fun."

Kirby sighed. "You won't tell me, will you?"

"I could, or..." Marx held out his hand. "I could show you."

"Show me what?" There really wasn't much to see in Dreamland. Kirby knew the entire place inside and out.

"You won't know until you come."

Kirby eyed him suspiciously. "This isn't some kind of trick, is it?"

"Aw, you'd think I'd trick you like that - I'm insulted. But no: I've... found something."

Kirby discovered his curiosity was greater than his suspicion, and he allowed himself to be helped to his feet. Marx lead him all the way back through the main street, up the castle, through the castle corridors. Not once would he give any indication of where he was taking him - only hinted that it would really interest him.

He stopped in the courtyard, and clasped his hands behind his back, surveying Kirby with a mischievous look.

Kirby blinked. Looked around a bit. It was the courtyard. He'd been here hundreds of times before. The fountain was its defining feature, placed right in the center of the courtyard and perpetually spewing water in a weeping willow-like fashion. The courtyard was walled on all four sides by the castle, and there was no ceiling, leaving it open to fresh air.

"Okay..." Kirby said slowly.

Marx waited.

It almost felt like a puzzle; like there was something he wasn't getting. Kirby wasn't too fond of that feeling, but it was quite clear Marx didn't have any intention of telling him what exactly was so significant about the courtyard on his own.

"All right, I don't get it. What's so special about this?"

"What indeed?" Marx chuckled. "That's what I was wondering too. It's very obvious. You wouldn't suspect anything of it."

"It's a courtyard, Marx... It's not like it's going to attack me."

"No..." Marx turned and marched over to the fountain, his hands still clasped stiffly behind his back. He stepped up onto the edge of the fountain and faced Kirby again. "It's the perfect hiding place, don't you think?"

Kirby followed hesitantly. "Not really..."

"Or, is it?" His grin surely could not get any wider, and Kirby was getting the feeling Marx was a little too delighted for his own good. The jester procured a small, square device with a single red button. This device he held away from his body, and he bowed deeply before straightening.

"What is that?" Kirby inquired, having never seen anything like it.

"What do you think would happen if I pressed the button?" Marx's thumb hovered over the red button.

Kirby tensed slightly. "Marx, that's not dangerous, is it?"

His thumb lowered slightly, just barely touching the button.

"Is it?" Kirby repeated. His heart began to thud in his chest, and his mind jumped through a hundred insane tricks Marx might play on him - tricks that just might be harmful. Even deadly. That red button looked none too safe.

"I won't press it," Marx giggled, "unless... my hand slips?"

"Don't do it. Marx, no. Just set it down, okay?"

"Oops." Marx slammed his palm on the button.

Kirby let out a cry, shielding his face from whatever explosion or destruction might occur.

Nothing happened.

He slowly lowered his arms. Marx still stood on the fountain edge, laughing wildly at him.

Except, the fountain was no longer the same. Like magic, it had parted in the center, revealing a staircase that descended into the ground.

Kirby gaped. "How did you do that?"

"You're such an idiot! What did you think I was going to do? Haha; I love you Kirby."

"There's a staircase?"

"Nah, really?" Marx hopped down from the fountain and gestured at Kirby to follow him before descending into the ground.

"How did you find this?" Kirby said in amazement, trotting after Marx.

"I'm just clever that way. It's Meta Knight's, I'm betting."

"What do you mean?"

"That I think he built this. You'll see why."

They continued down the stairs, which spiraled in a dizzying manner for must have been many feet below the earth, until at last the passage leveled out. The temperature was instantly lower as Kirby exited the staircase, as if the room was much larger - but it was all dark. He couldn't see two feet in front of his face - nor where Marx had gone.

"Marx? Uh... Marx, where are you?"

"Wait for it." The voice came from a distance, it seemed. It echoed slightly.

A moment later, piercing brightness blinded Kirby and he squinted his eyes with a cry. Slowly, his eyes adjusted. And he gasped - for it wasn't any old room he was in.

It was a hangar. Enormous, walled in steel... and occupied with a monstrously large ship. Instantly Kirby knew what Marx meant by the giant warships used in battles; ones that could wipe out entire towns with no effort at all. This was one of those ships.

It reared up seemingly miles above his head. Its wings were designed in imitation of those of a bat, and arced at its sides with a majestic, deadly grace. From the tip to its tail, the ship was lined with a countless number of guns and cannons. At the end of its very long thin neck was a large mask - a replica of Meta Knight's.

Kirby could only stare, his mouth wide open.

"Impressive, right?" Marx said from behind him.

"What... what _is_ this? How did you...?"

"See what I mean?" Marx chuckled. "It's Meta Knight's; has to be. I found the switch to open the courtyard in his room. Really should return it before he finds it's missing - but I thought it would be worthwhile to show you this as well."

"No kidding... I never knew Meta Knight had something like this." Kirby walked up to the colossal vessel and ran his hand along its smooth steel belly.

"I can get in."

"What?" Kirby spun around. "How?"

"I spent all morning working on it." Marx strode over to the side of the ship, where the edges of a shut door could be seen. Beside the door was a small key pad. "Actually, that's a lie. Meta Knight happened to incidentally show me the numbers himself, the fool! Che; thinks no one can get in his room just because it has a lock on the door." Marx shook his head before typing in the code as Kirby watched; 3_027.

Abruptly the ship's door lowered, revealed the dark inside and providing a ramp to get in.

Marx smirked. "And you thought I was going to trick you."


	17. Chapter 17

**Leech**

Chapter 17

One day, Enoch did not show up at Marx's house to inquire about his daily order. Marx was beginning to rely on his promptness, and when noon rolled around with no sign of the servant, he found himself both very hungry and very displeased. Yes, he had enough food stored to manage if Enoch did not arrive for the entire day - but that wasn't the point at all. In fact, to give a flagrant middle finger to Enoch's lateness and simultaneously prove The Point, Marx downright refused to touch any of his own food. Enoch should be there whether or not he was needed.

He was at first sure the feeble servant would show up, but by noon his patience was shot and he knew something had to be wrong, which he would have to figure out. Thus, he made the tedious journey to the kitchens for the second time.

It all working out anyway, Marx thought to himself, because he'd been out of proper meat for a while and was in a mood for more. Annoyance alleviated.

Unfortunately, when he peered through the glass on the doors to ensure Captain Doo wasn't hovering over his sheep, Marx's mood dropped again. No, the captain wasn't there, but neither were the servants alone - he was surprised to see Kirby standing amongst them, admiring an enormous pure white cake. And _enormous_ was an understatement: the many layered frosting- coated cake was taller than Kirby. Evidently the blonde was making the servants nervous, for they seemed to be pleading him to leave and nudging him unsuccessfully towards the door: they knew his appetite.

As Marx watched, the servants gave up their hopeless endeavor, and instead handed him an icing bag to help with the cake. His back was to the door.

A supercilious smirk settled on Marx's countenance. Yes, he was hungry, but clearly that was out of question at the moment. There was something else, however, that might improve his mood...

Quietly, he slipped through the doors. Per usual, the busy servants either ignored him or gave him a cautious wide berth. He crept up behind Kirby; the blonde completely oblivious and even humming slightly to himself as he spread frosting.

A few servants frowned at him in confusion.

Marx reared back his hands and their big doe-eyes widened in delicious horror.

"GOTCHA!" Marx shrieked, grabbing Kirby's sides.

"HYAHHHKGG!" Kirby shot forward – and to Marx's great amusement, ricocheted right into the cake. Frosting and cake bits went flying; the servants howled in despair and scrambled around the ruined cake while Kirby flailed wildly, sputtering.

Marx seized his chest and burst out in laughter. _Oh this was so worth it._

"Marx! The servants spent hours on this cake; it was for Dedede's birthday! He's gonna be so upset!"

"Pkffhaha h-he'll be f-heh – fine."

"This isn't funny!"

"Hey hey," Marx said, his eyes suddenly lighting up with a different emotion, "you really did get yourself covered in cake."

And suddenly Marx was looking at him in a way that made him feel _very _uncomfortable.

"Uhh..." he hastily tried to scoot away across the floor - but Marx would have none of that, oh no. Not with that mouth-watering sugary icing on him - and he'd come hungry too, Marx thought with a small whine. It was Kirby's fault for interrupting his food-getting.

Marx swiftly pinned his shoulders to the floor. With one hand he grasped Kirby's wrist, then much like a cat, he happily set about licking off the delectable frosting.

Kirby made a strangled squeak, his stomach flipping weirdly - and oh god, were those his fangs? Yes, he felt the tips brushing against his arm oh so lightly, and he at first was too afraid to jerk away. "A-ah, Marx?" his face burned with embarrassment but when he tried to push him off, he felt oddly weak.

Giving up on that, he instead used his free hand to shove Marx's cheek away.

Marx obediently ceased his attentions, only to start again on the previously un-licked hand, his wet tongue soon finding a sugary lump of frosting between his fingers.

"Eeeewwww!" Kirby squealed, jerked both hands back sharply. Once again he made for his escape, scrambling back. "Ew, ew, ew-"

Marx followed, and Kirby felt that persistent tongue snag the small bit of frosting that was on his cheek, then lick again although Kirby was quite certain there wasn't any cake there.

His face turned positively beet-red, and he just knew the dead silence in the kitchen was because every single servant had stopped their work to watch the unusual events transpiring in their kitchen. No, there certainly was not any frosting left, but that wasn't stopping Marx.

Kirby didn't think there was any way he could feel any more embarrassed.

That was before a certain knight standing in the doorway cleared his throat loudly to announce his presence.

Kirby absolutely froze in place. He wasn't positive who it was that had just entered the kitchens, but he had a dreadful, dreadful idea. Marx had paused mid-lick, and now he withdrew his tongue before rocking back and sitting on Kirby's lap.

"Oh hai Meta Knight," he smiled.

Oh stars no. Kirby hurriedly sat up. "U-um, Meta Knight, we were just-"

Marx sniggered, "yes, Kirby, do please find a way to talk your way out of this one!"

"W-we were…"

Oh gosh. Meta Knight was the only person Kirby knew who could simply stand in one place and resonate his displeasure throughout an entire room.

His deep purple cape was wrapped tightly around his body: his own subtle display of unease or contained anger. Perhaps most obvious of all, his normally yellow eyes were shadowed by a diaphanous veil of red. Kirby was too tense to speak, for he recognized that demonic vibe.

Marx, however, had no such qualms.

"You're looking cheerful today, Meta Knighty. Did you get a haircut?"

"Get out. Now," he growled.

"Out? Out where? I'd love to go out-"

"GET OUT!" Meta Knight roared, his hand leaping to Galaxia.

"Whooops!" Marx flashed one last mischievous grin, then dragged Kirby after him out of the kitchens. "Time to fly!"


	18. Chapter 18

**Leech**

Chapter 18

Even though Marx expressed his obvious distaste for them, Kirby still made an effort to keep up with his training sessions. They weren't like they used to be, though. While Meta Knight had always been strict and expected much off him, he also used to give praise where it was warranted and reward for good effort.

Now, and unpleasant tension would hang over the sessions, where neither teacher nor pupil could fully relax or focus on the work. Kirby made more mistakes, and Meta Knight would get more frustrated with him. They seemed to be driven out of obligation or habit rather than any conscious want to continue.

Then, Marx brought up a point that Kirby hadn't thought of before, as they were sitting beside the lake and he mentioned that he was going to order lunch.

"Sorry, you'll have to eat by yourself," Kirby said. "I have to train with Meta Knight soon."

Marx stuck out his tongue. "Again? I've always thought they were stupid though. You can't really learn anything from it."

"That's not true," Kirby protested, frowning. "I've learned how to sword-fight pretty well. There's no one better to learn from than Meta Knight... at least, I don't think so."

"You learned how to fight Meta Knight. That's it."

"He shows me good techniques in any battle."

Marx chuckled mockingly. He began to rip up flowers in a bored manner, and mutilated the petals before flicking them into the wind and grabbing more. "Remember when I first met you? I stole your sword without even trying. In one move, I stole any ability of yours to fight back. Hrm, and you say he has effective lessons?"

"Stop it. The mayor's wife planted those flowers," Kirby scolded. "And yes, they are effective lessons. You can't compare fighting with tricks."

Marx picked one last particularly beautiful red flower and proceeded to gradually and systematically tear it to pieces. "You can," he argued, "What if I was your enemy then? What if I attacked you?"

"Except you didn't."

"Ah, but what if I did? What if I stole your sword and tried to fight you?"

"You'd have to give me a sword then, too. That's how one fights honorably."

Marx laughed. "You don't get it. Yes, yes - Meta Knight has taught you to fight honorable-like, I understand that. I'm sure you're very prepared, should someone whip out a sword and declare a formal duel with you. But that isn't the point.

"As soon as someone cheats, you've lost. Meta Knight has never taught you to cheat."

"I've never needed to cheat..." Kirby said quietly. "I don't even want to."

"Maybe not even cheating, then. It doesn't even have to be cheating. As long as the other person isn't playing by the same rules as you - then you have no chance."

Uneasy, Kirby hunted for a reply. "I don't need to know, anyway... It doesn't really matter..."

"I'm only saying," Marx shrugged, "That most don't fight like Meta Knight. I know someone like... say, Zero, would not. Only saying."

Marx summoned Enoch, and all three had lunch beside the lake.

* * *

><p>Kirby did not expect to get away with skipping sword-play lessons for long - he knew sooner or later, Meta Knight would come after him demanding an explanation for his absence. It happened sooner rather than later.<p>

As Kirby and Marx were walking through the castle corridors a few days later, Kirby happened to notice Meta Knight's steely yellow eyes studying him from the arch of another hallway.

Kirby paused. "You go ahead."

"Hm?" Marx saw where Kirby was looking, and his eyes narrowed. "C'mon Kirby." He tugged on his hand.

"I'll catch up with you, I promise."

Exasperated, Marx leaned toward Kirby's ear and whispered so only he could hear the words, "C'mon Kay, it's just Meta Knight. What could you possibly say to _him_?"

"It looks like he wants to talk to me," he murmured back.

"Che. I bet he's mad you stopped training. Bet he'll try to force you to start again."

"I don't know. I won't know unless I talk to him."

Marx growled. "He's watching us, that creep."

"It won't take long," Kirby forced a smile. "I'll just find out what he wants and leave, okay?"

"You'll be wasting your time," Marx scowled, "but if you want to..."

"Thanks." He slid his fingers from Marx's and lightly pushed him away. "Go on..."

Marx made a face but obediently left Kirby to his own devices. Kirby realized suddenly that he really was nervous about talking to Meta Knight. The knight, after all, could be a very foreboding figure, and the way he lurked half in the shadows with those steady yellow eyes upon Kirby did not help the situation. He wished instantly he had not made Marx leave - but it was too late to change that. He walked up uneasily.

"Hi, Sir Meta Knight." The words sounded weirdly empty.

"Kirby." Meta Knight inclined his head slightly in greeting.

The silence was suffocating. "Uh... sorry about that," he said, simply to be saying anything at all. He laughed awkwardly. "Marx wasn't too keen on me talking to you."

"So it seems. Is he also the one who told you not to practice sword-play any longer?"

"Um, no... that was sort of my own decision." Then Kirby found himself apologizing again. Meta Knight studied him quietly.

"How did you come by that decision?"

"It wasn't something I just thought of one day." Kirby shifted on his feet. "I guess I was doubting how useful the lessons really were - I know you're a skilled swordsman and all, but... I don't know if I really care about becoming one myself. And then Marx mentioned that by fighting only you, I was learning how to fight only you." He shrugged weakly. "There didn't seem to be a point."

"I see."

Meta Knight's reaction was impossible to discern, what with his mask in the way.

"You're not going to try to make me train again, are you?"

"No," he replied.

"You aren't?" Kirby said, surprised.

"No. I too make mistakes, Kirby - And I believe I have made a mistake by forcing this upon you. If you think there was no purpose to my lessons, then maybe there was none." His eyes shimmered a clear, emerald green. "Truly, the best lessons are not learned by practice, but by experience. Even, by mistakes."

His eyes reverted back to yellow. Silently, he turned and strode away down the hall.


	19. Chapter 19

**Leech**

Chapter 19

Kirby jerked awake with a cry. He saw only darkness, seeming to have exchanged one oblivion for another. Before he could scream or thrash, a hand covered his mouth and it was then he realized someone was kneeling over him.

"M-Marx?"

"You were having a nightmare. You woke me up. Screaming in my ear." Despite the coldness in the words, they were an affirmation of reality: he'd escaped the realm of nightmares. When barely out of the hold of one nightmare, he could not yet fear another. Sighing deeply, Kirby relaxed, all his tense muscles slackened as if an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The room was unusually dark, for Kirby tended to no longer sleep in his own windowed house.

Vaguely Kirby could recall his own initial repulsion of Marx's house - but its broken facade, ever buried under those icy-throttled rose bushes, had gained something of a homey feel to him.

For some reason he never found it strange that after Marx got a job, he didn't save money for a new home. He simply moved back to his house, and incidentally, Kirby moved with him. Fumu was furious, but Kirby pointed out that the house did have more room, and if they ever wanted to clean it up, they could.

"Sorry," Kirby mumbled, the words muffled.

Silence. His eyes still hadn't adjusted to the darkness, but he imagined Marx was debating whether to let it go or not.

He finally settled upon, "It's your fault for not taking the Narcao." His weight shifted; Kirby felt him plop to the side and turn to face the wall.

Kirby couldn't go back to sleep. "I thought it was real. It just wouldn't end..."

He doubted Marx would respond, as much as he wished he would. But the jester once again managed to surprise him. "All dreams feel real. So all nightmares should feel real too."

"It's scary... I've never had a nightmare that real."

"Tell me."

"It was Dreamland, but all wrong. Burning." Kirby shuddered. "Everything was on fire, and the sky was black. I kept trying to find you and Fumu and Meta Knight, but I couldn't see any of you guys through the fires. I was choking on smoke and it was like… like my eyes weren't able to open. Like when you're really tired. People were in danger and I could hardly keep myself awake."

"Hn." The bed shifted again; an arm looped around his waist. "Take the Narcao. It would stop dreams like that."

"Meta Knight told me not to."

"Meta Knight this, Meta Knight that." Marx yawned. "He wouldn't even give you a reason."

Kirby remained silent. He liked to think that he didn't need a reason. That the sheer fact of Meta Knight asking meant he shouldn't wonder. His trust should be great enough to not need to know.

But… was there any purpose in enduring a dream like that? Surely the Narcao couldn't hurt him, if all the villagers were eating them and coming away unharmed?

All of them, at least, except…. Kirby frowned.

"Marx?"

"Mm?"

"Why don't you ever eat the Narcao?"

"I don't have nightmares."

"Ever?"

"No." Sharper now.

"But you do have dreams, right?"

"Go to sleep, Kirby."

Kirby frowned and sat up. What a strange topic for Marx to be sensitive over. "Marx, if you have nightmares, why wouldn't you take the Narcao?"

Growling under his breath, Marx pushed himself into a sitting position and glared at Kirby. "It isn't your problem."

"It is if I care about whether or not you're having nightmares!"

"I'm not having nightmares!"

"I could probably get some more Narcao from beyond the borders; it's really not too difficult-"

"No," Marx retorted harshly, "I don't have nightmares. Anyhow..." his voice darkened. "Narcao hardly tastes as good as human flesh."

Kirby frowned. Sleep deprived Marx was clearly not a very coherent one. "Don't be nasty," he scolded lightly.

"What? Would you rather me lie?"

"What do you mean?"

Marx got that look again, that knowing smirk. Kirby suppressed a shudder. "Seriously, what?"

Thin fingers grabbed his wrist and Marx brought it close to his lips. His tongue pressed against the soft flesh and slid up to his palm, leaving a wet trail on his skin. "Human. Tasty." He grinned.

Flushing, Kirby jerked his hand away. "That's not even funny," he muttered crossly, avoiding Marx's gaze.

"I'm not trying to be. Have you never tried it?"

Kirby's eyes abruptly flicked back to Marx. _No..._ "You...?" He had to be kidding. But Kirby knew him too well. Saw the seriousness in his expression. Horror crept its cold tentacles up his back. "You haven't...?"

Marx leaned closer. Like a little child excited to divulge a secret, his eyes gleamed and he lightly bit his lower lip in anticipation. Eyes widened; the child on the brink of telling; daring, for the absent parent was not privy.

"Yes," he breathed. "The servant - remember, the one that went missing? Ohh, she was good."

Kirby scrambled out of the bed. Thick vomit shot up his throat, and he clasped his hands to his mouth. He could barely reach the bathroom in time, though somehow he managed to collapse in front of the toilet before his lunch was forced back out. For several seconds he could only hear the sickening, wet sound of his own heaving and his choked sobs. His hands trembled on the cracked tile floor.

Soon there was nothing left to throw up. Remnants of vomit dribbled down his chin; he had no energy to clean it up. It was only then that he heard Marx back in the bedroom. He was laughing.

A shuddering breath racked his body and he leaned his head against the cold wall, trying to fight off the dizziness. He heard the laughter taper off and finally cease. Footsteps against old wood, then tile. Behind him.

A voice that was both mocking and concerned -or maybe the concern was only imagined. "I'm sorry, Kay. I didn't realize it would be such a shock to you... I should have taken in consideration how sensitive you are... how soft." A hand rested between his shoulder blades, fingers lightly stroking the spot.

"Don't touch me!" Kirby crawled away as quickly as he could, knees banging uncomfortably on the tile. He pushed himself into a corner with his face to the wall. He heard Marx kneel behind him. Incessant, his fingers trailed over his ribs in a gesture that would have been ticklish in another situation. "C'mon, Kay. You're the only person I can be honest to, you know that?" His fingers tip-toed around to his stomach. "No harm done, right? I know you can be understanding..."

Kirby's elbow snapped back and jabbed hard into Marx's side. The jester recoiled from the unexpected strike, not even attacking back in his surprise. Kirby didn't think, didn't intend to hurt him, but suddenly he was squirming out of his slackened arms and his fingers curled around a soap dish - must've fallen off the sink somehow, he didn't wonder about it, he just knew he couldn't handle this right now.

In one swift move, he cracked the dish against Marx's head and pushed the limp jester completely off him. Somehow he managed to jerk away and get on his shaky legs to gaze down at his handiwork. The tall thin teen wasn't moving, except for the shallow rise and fall of his breathing. Already an uneven circle of dark red was matting his black hair.

Trying to regulate his own breathing, Kirby took a slow step back. Marx wasn't getting up. Why wasn't he getting up? Another step back.

Then he turned and ran. Ran through the darkened hallways, burst from the front door. Ran all the way to his own home, and whatever false comfort he hoped to glean from it. All the way, he thought of Marx's deceit, his twisted laughter, his cruelty. It was only when he slammed his door that he remember his sparse - but still existent - kindness, his warm presence in the mornings, his jokes and stories.

And him lying lifelessly on the bathroom floor.

_You're the only person I can be honest to, you know that?_

* * *

><p><em>It's true<em>, Kirby thought to himself. _I hate myself_. He knew he would have been able to stay away - despite his general liking of Marx. Yes, he certainly was able to live without Marx. His disgust would've overruled his attachment, Kirby assured himself. If only he hadn't attacked and left the said jester bleeding on the floor.

The thought that, without help, Marx would die - that was too frightening. He was not a killer by any means. Even if Marx had committed worse crimes, Kirby couldn't kill him, wouldn't even think of it.

Thus, he had saved Marx. _I'll leave as soon as I know he's okay..._

Kirby had first bandaged the wound to the best of his ability. It had mostly clotted by the time he'd returned, which was good, but Marx had not yet woken. This was worrisome.

Having decided it might be better to move Marx somewhere more comfortable and then fetch Dreamland's doctor, Kirby tucked one arm under Marx's upper back, the other under his legs. Unfortunately, while he was unhealthily skinny, he was also taller than Kirby. Twice Kirby nearly dropped him from his greater weight, and once he narrowly avoided hitting his head against the doorframe.

"Sorry," Kirby mumbled as he let him tumble onto the bare mattress. Marx remained unresponsive. He could've been a stack of sticks for all the answer he gave. Concerned, Kirby checked his pulse. It seemed normal, but he wasn't an expert in those sort of things.

Suddenly Marx made a soft noise and shifted slightly. Kirby hurriedly leaned over him. "Marx? Marx, are you all right?"

A single eye blinked open, peered up with only a sliver of purple showing.

Kirby sighed in relief. "Oh, good... I thought I'd really hurt you."

That single eye drifted to the side, then back to Kirby.

"Um, please say something," Kirby squeaked. "You're okay, right?"

"Narcao... Do you have Narcao?" Marx muttered.

"Uh... n-not here," Kirby said, looking around anxiously anyway as if some would simply be sitting around.

"I do." His other eye opened, and they both fixed upon Kirby with a humorless eerie look that he'd never seen before.

"A-are you okay?" Kirby whimpered.

"Get the Narcao. In my drawer." There was a strange finality in his words; Kirby knew better to question. Still afraid that he'd truly hurt Marx - and his unusual solemn behavior was evidence of this - Kirby didn't have the will to simply leave yet.

"I thought you didn't use it..." he voiced uneasily, but moved to the drawer anyway. Upon opening it, he found several piles of the flowers, just beginning to decay. He frowned. Did it matter that they weren't very fresh?

Marx gave no reply.

Kirby grabbed one bunch of flowers, but Marx muttered something about needing more. He grabbed another two bunches. "This is too much, though," Kirby said. "Do you want me to set more on the nightstand so you can reach them?"

He glanced over to see that Marx had sat up and was clutching one side of his head. Kirby cringed. "Sorry."

Hurrying back over to the bed, he held out all the flowers. He accepted the flowers, but before Kirby could move away his other hand clamped down on his wrist, those thin cold fingers tightening. Marx had that eerie look again.

"Uh..." Kirby tugged on his hand. "Marx...?"

Marx yanked with all his strength and managed to drag Kirby onto the bed. In an instant he'd climbed atop of him, and shoved two fingers into his mouth - Kirby was too busy gagging that he didn't realize it was the Narcao plants he'd wedged in his throat until he involuntarily swallowed them - then everything became blurry, and started to fade out...


	20. Chapter 20

**Leech**

Chapter 20

His tongue felt thick in his mouth, and his eyes too heavy to open. He was aware that he was conscious, but reluctant to shed off the blank oblivion of his sleep. This was far too blissful.

"You're awake," a voice suddenly said, seeming so loud in comparison to the previous silence. That voice was familiar, but Kirby couldn't quite think straight enough to pinpoint why. He made a soft mewling noise in response. He meant to shift his hands toward the voice, to place it, to know there was a person was there. Something caused an unpleasant pinching on his soft wrists and prevented him from movement like this, however, so Kirby didn't feel like he should force it. He relaxed again, finding it wasn't too hard to ignore the dull pain throbbing in his shoulders and wrists.

"You aren't dead, are you?" Footsteps coming closer, pausing. Someone prodded the side of his ribs roughly, and Kirby squirmed in discomfort. "Good," he said in satisfaction. "Couldn't be sure what a lethal dose is."

"Not dead." Did he always sound like that? Slurred words, like they didn't want to cooperate.

"Newp, not dead. That's lucky for you and me."

"You and I."

"What was that?"

Kirby repeated himself more slowly, "You... and... I..." Meta Knight was always telling him to speak in correct grammar. Fumu too, when he got it wrong around her.

_Wumph wumph wumph... _Was that a ceiling fan? He hadn't heard it before. It explained the gentle breeze on his face.

"Us?" the other voice said.

"Sure."

He was saying something else, but Kirby felt himself slipping back into sleep, lulled by the beats of the fan, then even that was fading, and he heard nothing more.

* * *

><p>When he next woke, he was alone. Though his eyes were still closed, he could hear the ceiling fan, and smell stale air, dust. His fingers twitched and brushed again soft sheets. It was one of those moments were you have truly woken up, but you feel as though you are dreaming - he did not at first register that the fan was part of reality, and that in a dream it is difficult to truly smell and feel things. They only are.<p>

There was no other noise to immediately rouse him, so he was slow in realizing that perhaps he wasn't dreaming, and then his eyes cracked open. He was in a small, dark room. There were no windows, so he couldn't tell if it was night or day. Only that the fan was real: it revolved in lazy circles above his head, providing so little fresh air that Kirby questioned the purpose of having it on at all.

The walls were bland; an aged grey, and nondescript aside from the spiderweb-like cracks at the corners. For a long while, he watched the cracks. The shadow of the fan would pass over it at intervals and he tried to count but he forgot the numbers. The task was so absorbing that he neglected to check what the hallway looked like through his doorway.

It was only when another shadow fell upon the threshold that he tore his gaze away.

Marx smiled disarmingly. "Feeling better?"

Had he felt worse? He felt quite fine. Very fine.

"Are you thirsty? Want water?"

"No," he replied. It was difficult forming words; slow business, like he didn't remember how to do it properly. He giggled lightly at this thought. "I feel good."

"Are you sure? You might be thirsty."

"Oh. Maybe I am. I'm thirsty." The thought hadn't even occurred to him, but it was a good one.

"All right. Are you hungry?"

A shock zapped down his back. Momentarily his muscles seized and his hands jerked sharply against the whatever metal contraption that restrained them, as though possessed of their own will. _Wrong!_ something screamed, _Get out!_

He blinked and chided himself - thrashing hurts, don't do it - why yes, I am a little hungry. He looked at Marx meaningfully.

"Are you hungry?" he repeated.

He saw his lips move before the words struck his ears, which was pretty funny, then he remembered that questions expected replies.

"Very," he nodded; but then, when wasn't he? This seemed to make Marx pretty happy too, and he soon left to get Kirby food and water. Waiting was fine though - Kirby had just found the ceiling. And boy, he wished he'd seen that ceiling earlier. The fan, yes, but the ceiling was something else entirely.

It was unique. An opaque, milky white color, but what made it really stick out was the cracks intricately zigzagging all over its surface. The longer he watched, the more they wiggled around each other. Even better than the cracks on the walls.

He was even a little disappointed when Marx returned and he had to pull out of his trance. The aroma wafting from the soup, however, soon made him forget about the ceiling, and he realized his hunger on a new level. He tried to hold out his hands to grab the bowl and the cup of water, but Marx held it out of his reach and his hands snagged again. Whatever was holding them above his head was very annoying.

He was chastised for his impatience, then Marx set down his food and undid his restraints. It was only as he set them on a nearby night stand that Kirby realized they were handcuffs.

"What kind of soup?" asked Kirby happily. He sat up too quickly and had to close his eyes and hold his head for a moment, overcome with dizziness.

"The noodle-y kind."

"Oh, I like the noodle-y kind." It was really hard to focus. When Marx held out the soup bowl, he accidently reached to the left of it. Suddenly the soup bowl rightened, and laughing at his mistake, Kirby took it and the spoon.

"I like it too," Marx agreed.

It was chicken noodle. His hand was shaking - despite his hunger, it was difficult to get a good spoonful with noodles, broth, and meat, but at last he accomplished it and took a large bite.

"Good?"

Kirby nodded and continued eating happily. Oh, he'd like a watermelon too right now, but Marx had already made him soup and taken care of him and all, so it'd be too intrusive to ask for something that specific. Instead he steadily ate all his soup and drank the offered water, before realized that the small activity had exhausted him.

He sank back against the headboard, finding that it was a challenge just to keep his eyes open. He shut them and sighed contentedly.

"Here." Something was pushed into his hands; soft, delicate. His thumb ran over it absentmindedly: it was a clump of crushed flowers. Well, that was nice of Marx. He didn't get why they were crushed though.

"Eat them, you idiot," Marx scolded, pushing his hand towards his mouth. "You should be proud - I'm figuring out the dosage! It's not as much as I first thought, heh..."

"Yeah..." Kirby stuffed them in his mouth and swallowed.

* * *

><p>"How do you feel?" Warbled, loud. Kirby pressed his hands over his skull. His wrists hurt.<p>

"Dizzy," he whispered hoarsely. "What happened?" His mind drew one large fuzzy blank. Something about dark shadows, the _wumph wumph wumph_ of a ceiling fan. Nothing he could solidly place, only distortions of memory.

"We were fighting, remember?"

Of course... They had; but the recollection was that of a foggy dream. Marx had told him his preference in eating... Kirby had to hold back from gagging again - yes he'd thrown up, hadn't he? Then ran out... That's right; he'd attacked Marx and ran out.

"You were hurt..." Kirby said slowly.

"Is that all you remember?"

"No. You woke up and were mad about something. I don't know what."

"That's right. I was angry you attacked me, and we fought again... You fell and hit your head. I didn't mean to hurt you Kirby, I swear - it was an accident. I was worried, so I kept you here and made sure you were going to be okay. You've been out for two days now."

"Two days?" Kirby said in amazement. "You just let me lay here, not knowing if I was all right or not?"

"Of course not! I had the village doctor come by - Yabewi or something like that - myep, you can check with him, it's true. He said you'd wake up soon, and here you are."

Kirby frowned. "What about Meta Knight? Did he stop by?"

"Hmm... no, come to think of it."

"Oh."

"Well, do you feel better? Do you think you can get up?"

"Not really... I'm not sure." Kirby rubbed his head in a vain effort to clear his thoughts. He still felt too dizzy to want to stand quite yet.

"No? All right. You can stay here until you feel better. Meta Knight will probably come by eventually, as nosy as he is. And blame me too." Marx made a face.

"It's okay, I'll tell him it was just an accident." Kirby added under his breath, "If he cares at all..."

Marx hissed softly. "Kirby, you shouldn't say that. Meta Knight did take the effort to train you, after all. Water?"

"I don't know anymore if that's caring." Kirby reached out to accept the offered cup, but paused mid-reach. There was a ring of light purplish bruises around his wrist - he hadn't even noticed it before. "Marx... what is this?"

Marx winced. "Sorry about that. It should heal in a week or so. Maybe sooner...?"

"What happened?"

He picked up something from the table and dangled it in front of Kirby. "Handcuffs. You were having a nightmare, and I couldn't get you to wake. I was afraid you'd hurt yourself thrashing."

Tentatively Kirby poked the pale bruises. "I've had a rough two days, haven't I?" he joked weakly.

Marx chuckled quietly in agreement. "By the way, Fumu did stop by. She came with Yabewi."

"It's Dr. Yabui," Kirby corrected with a small laugh himself. Somehow the fact that Fumu at least had come to visit cheered him a little. "Did she say anything?"

"Just making sure you were okay. She didn't like that you were here though - said we should move you to her apartment."

"Oh yeah?"

"I told her she could shove it up her ass."

"Marx!"

"In politer terms."

"I hope so." Kirby crossed his arms. "You're too mean to her."

"I'm not paid to be nice to her. Water?"

Unsure if he should laugh or sigh, Kirby just accepted the water without comment.

"You know," he said as he handed it back, "You're being very civil."

"What are you talking about? I'm a civil person," Marx protested, feigning indignation.

Kirby raised an eyebrow. "You know what I mean. You're being like... polite. It's nice."

"You are ill, and in my house. Normally that constitutes some sort of obligated politeness, doesn't it?" He looked truly puzzled, as if that was something he wanted Kirby to answer.

But Kirby knew as well as he that such typical standards were not held by Marx - he cared little for sympathy or obligation. Privately, that knowledge pleased Kirby because it meant Marx was doing it simply because he was concerned.

"Whatever reason," he smiled, "Thank you."


	21. Chapter 21

**Leech**

Chapter 21

The thing that had started their argument was not forgotten, by any means. Marx certainly was polite and helpful over the next several days, as Kirby recovered his energy and strength. He took it almost to an eerie level, always willing to get Kirby something, always waiting at his slightest whim.

It was one of these times, as Marx was getting him water, that Kirby paused him on his way out.

"Marx... Um, about what started all of this..."

Marx turned, surveying him thoughtfully. "You mean the fact I ate one of the kitchen servants?"

Kirby winced. "Uh, yeah that. I know it's said and done, so there isn't much I can do to change that. Nor do I know why you did it - and I don't really want to know. But I was thinking, we need to come to some sort of compromise."

"Compromise?" Marx tapped his lips. "That means give-take. We'll have a give-take."

"Under my terms."

"But still a give-take?"

Kirby shook his head. "A little, maybe? But I think compromise was the wrong word - I don't mean that I'll let you do whatever you want."

"So, you're implying I'll follow whatever rules you feel like putting on me?"

Warning. Kirby could detect it sharp in his voice, more because he knew Marx too well than because he physically heard it. He spoke delicately, "I'm not trying to imply anything... or put rules on you. I was just thinking that, because you do care about me, you might consider respecting the fact that the servants are my friends, and you shouldn't..." he grimaced. "You shouldn't eat them?"

Marx looked to be considering it, then Kirby realized another front he needed to cover - "Oh, you can't eat anyone in Dreamland. Or uh, outside, if there are good people outside... yeah..."

"At all?" Marx stuck out his bottom lip unhappily.

"At all?" Kirby recoiled. "So this wasn't the first time?"

"Not often," he pouted, "but occasionally is more than never."

Kirby covered his mouth and choked back a retch. With one hand he signaled Marx to wait, then closed his eyes and breathed slowly and steadily for a few seconds. Once he'd collected himself, he shook his head vehemently. "Yes never, Marx. Not again."

Marx crossed his arms and surveyed Kirby critically. "Then I have one condition of my own."

"Yes?"

"Watermelons, you see, are my best friends. My favorite fruit, definitely - and it really pains me when you eat them, because they are my friends. Best friends. I will give up eating other two-legged flat-teethed mammals, only if you give up eating watermelons. Forever."

"You're not taking this seriously at all!" Kirby despaired.

"I totally am, myep - just making a comparison here, but you don't care to listen to it."

"Except it's not an equal comparison! Don't you realize how messed up that sounds?"

"Watermelons are people too."

"Oh are they?" Kirby bit back, not at all amused by Marx's tactics. "Then how about I just set a watermelon right here and leave, if it's all the same to you?"

Marx made a small whining noise. "No, that's not the same."

"I'm not seeing a difference."

Marx held out both his hands like a scale. "This is you," he said, nodding at his left hand, "And the other hand is a watermelon." He lifted his left hand high above his other one. "See; you're much more important, because you're my favoritest."

Kirby stared. "Are you trying to tell me you want to eat me?"

"No; I'm saying since you're my favoritest, I will oblige your comprohmize."

I'm not giving up watermelons!"

Marx sighed. "Let me repeat that. I will oblige your comprohmize - without my condition. Because I am just that nice."

"You will... wait, really?" Kirby sat up straighter hopefully.

"Yes. Need me to sign a contract or something? Make it all formal?"

"Err, no, as long as you know you won't ever do it again."

"Newp. Never again. Understand that this is a big sacrifice though."

Kirby cringed. "Do we really taste that good?"

"Of course not."

"... But didn't you just imply it was your favorite food? Since you said it was like me giving up watermelons?"

"Sure, but that doesn't mean it tastes better than other meat."

By this time Kirby was very confused, and severely disgusted. Nonetheless, disgust had a habit of being accompanied by curiosity. "Then why?"

Marx crossed his arms. "I have my reasons."

"That... is a really stupid excuse."

"Well, then why don't you come up with a better one?" Marx snapped. "Does it really matter?"

Kirby shrank down on the bed. "I just wondered... And wondered how you'd even start that kind of thing." He shuddered. "How you could even think of it."

"Don't start questioning the things I think. I don't want your questions."

His menacing tone warned Kirby off, but he was unwilling to drop the subject so quickly, just because he'd touched on something that was evidently sensitive. Privately, he thought it was more sensitive to himself, since Marx obviously didn't care about his wrongdoings. "I think I should know," Kirby said quietly, "I haven't even told anyone, for you. If I'm keeping this secret for you - which I shouldn't even be doing - maybe you should at least tell me why I should."

"I think you expect too much." If words were objects, his would be barbed wire.

Kirby licked his lips. Cautious, but determined. "It can't be that hard to tell me - it's the least you can do, right?"

"I looked after you for two days, tended to you while you were sick, and even agreed to your stupid compromise - where you never even gave up something for me. You'd think that'd be enough to satisfy you, but this is how you repay me?" A demented hatred burned in his dark purple eyes - a hatred that brought nervous foreboding over Kirby.

"I'm sorry, I just want to know-"

"No. Go away."

"Wh-what?"

"Go away. Get out of my house. I don't want to see you right now."

Kirby clutched the covers. "Marx, I don't think I can walk right now. I still feel dizzy."

"You should've thought about that," he snapped. He grabbed Kirby's arm and viciously hauled him off the bed. The wind rushed out of Kirby's lungs when he struck the floor, and instantly the room around him spun, his dizziness surging a tenfold. Crying out, he curled up and tried vainly to reorient his senses - but the floor was still up and ceiling down, with black spots flashing in his vision.

Something jabbed hard into his spine and he realized Marx was kicking him.

"Stop, please stop!" Kirby unfurled and tried to squirm away only for Marx's booted foot to strike his unprotected side. He managed to unsteadily get to his hands and knees while Marx's onslaught continued, and crawled pitifully a few feet away before collapsing and curling into another ball.

"Please stop," he whispered, hoping desperately his vertigo would leave soon and he could stand properly. Marx paused.

"Leave."

"I'm trying."

"Try harder." With this, he gave one last painful kick to his back, then turned away.

Kirby wasn't sure where he went; wasn't sure where in the house he was. Several minutes passed, where his breath slowly returned, and his vertigo cleared. Still, if he made any quick movements or tried to fully stand, it would return swiftly and he would have to sit quietly unless the feeling passed.

Gradually, he was able to crawl to the front door, kneel to open the door, and crawl out again. He only went a few yards from Marx's house - enough that would constitute having left. Then, exhausted and feeling as if his own home was much too far away, he slipped into sleep in the bushes outside, as close as he could get to the house itself.

When he woke, hours later, aching from the purple bruises on his back and side and parched, he found he was able to unsteadily stand. He staggered all the way to his own house, and when he arrived at his house, there was a watermelon placed in the very center of his floor, with a neat red ribbon around it, like a present. The watermelon was rotted through and infested with maggots.


	22. Chapter 22

**Leech**

Chapter 22

Kirby spent a good portion trying to figure out how to remove the watermelon from his floor, as he didn't want to get his skin anywhere near the maggots and they flowed over every bit of the watermelon like a white ever-shifting blanket. It made him wonder how Marx had gotten it there in the first place... but then he realized Marx might not care so much about touching the wriggling worms and he shuddered.

In the end, he borrowed a small shovel from the mayor with the excuse he wanted to plant vegetables of his own and proceeded to carry out the watermelon in halves. Holding the shovel as far away from him as possible, he took two trips to the very edge of the border and let the watermelon halves drop next to each other with sickening squelching noises.

The entire fiasco left him feeling sick and weak; although he was hungry, he couldn't even imagine going to the kitchens to eat something. So, he trudged back from the second trip, shovel dragging listlessly behind him, thinking that he would just go back to his own house and sleep until he felt better. If he felt better... For some part of him felt like things couldn't ever really get better. At least, he thought to himself, Marx had agreed not to repeat what he'd done...

Did that still hold after Marx had so viciously thrown him out of his house? Kirby could've gone back to Marx's house to check, but had no real urge or desire to do so. The thought barely occurred to him before he discarded it hatefully. He just wanted to get back to his own home. And get some water, maybe...

He was unbelievably thirsty; how long had it been since he'd had water? Too long. He could get some from his sink though. Kirby was just meters away from his door when he jolted to a halt right in his steps. Further back on the main street Fumu came walking towards his house, evidently having heard that he'd left Marx's in a deplorable state. Or maybe she just had really bad timing.

Either way, the conversation that would take place if they ran into each other was one that Kirby wanted to avoid at all costs. He couldn't take any more questions or stress at this point; after he slept some, sure, but not now. He perhaps could sidle around to the back of his house and hide there until she left, but as soon as that thought occurred to him, she noticed him and waved enthusiastically.

"Kirby, there you are!" she jogged up, "you're feeling better! That's great."

He froze, stared wide-eyed, aware of how awful he must still look. And a moment later, now directly in front of him, Fumu too realized it. Her brow furrowed and a frown appeared at the corner of her lips. "Kirby... you are feeling better, right?"

"Yeah," he said hurriedly, "I just need some sleep. I'm really tired."

Her eyes traveled to the shovel. Though she did not immediately reply, Kirby could practically see the cogs working in her brain, trying to puzzle through the situation.

Slowly, she answered, "Marx said you accidently hit your head. I dropped by earlier but you were asleep then. How do you feel now?"

"F-fine," he insisted. "Like I said, I'm just tired."

"I mean where you hit your head. Does it still hurt?"

"Oh." Kirby rubbed the side of his head uneasily, then the other side. He didn't actually remember where he'd hit his head, but that was no surprise - everything from the past several days was fuzzy. "No, it's good," he commented.

This strange suspicious look got into her eyes, and Kirby was in no mood to be figuring it out. "Okay. Erm, is there any reason you have a shovel?"

"I was planting a... garden..." Well, he might as well just himself with the shovel now. The excuse might've worked with the mayor but Fumu wasn't a complete idiot. Not that he thought the mayor was an idiot, but... oh, it didn't matter, he groaned.

"Planting a garden?" Fumu echoed.

"Uhmm..."

"Kirby, are you sure you're alright?" She leaned in, scanning his eyes worriedly.

"Just tired..." he repeated. He averted his gaze.

"C'mon," Fumu urged. "Let's get you home. Leave the shovel - there. Come on." She encouragingly placed his hand on his back to guide him back, but the simple gesture shot pain through his bruised back.

He twisted away from her touch and inadvertently let out a sharp hiss through clenched teeth.

Her eyes widened like saucers. "Kirby..."

He averted his eyes. He didn't want all the problems that were sure to arise if she discovered what really happened. But he also hated lying to Fumu like this. He didn't even have the energy to do so.

"Is there something wrong with your back?"

"Sort of," he replied weakly.

In an instant she was behind him, and grabbed the bottom of his shirt. He felt her push it up, and in the ensuing silence his heart raced.

"Oh my god," she whispered. And, being Fumu, it didn't take her long to figure it out. "Marx did this to you?"

"It was an accident," he muttered, attempting to push down his shirt.

"An accident?" she yelped. "This isn't an accident, Kirby. This is deliberate."

"I just... he..."

She looked him straight in the eye. "If you can't admit it, I will for you. I'm going to tell Marx that he'd better leave you alone from now on."

With this said, she turned on her heel to stalk towards Marx's house. In one horrible instant, Kirby thought to himself _if Marx did this to me, what would he do to _her?

He snatched her wrist, "no, Fumu-"

"Yes," she insisted, "this has gone way too far and I can't believe you don't see a problem with it!" The words were scathing, but her eyes were soft and concerned. When Fumu was concerned about her friends, no one could stand in her path. This loyalty Kirby had always admired in her, but this was one situation where he wished she didn't take it so far.

"I do see a problem," he rushed to say. "It has gone too far." Of course, it had gone too far long ago. But how could he convey to her that it wasn't so simple, not something he could just stop and return from, unchanged? That after everything, it truly was impossible to disregard what he'd learned and resume life in Dreamland as it was before he met Marx.

He longed to explain these things to her, but had no idea how to even begin. So, he lied, "Today, I realized that. So... I just needed some time on my own, and then I was going back to Marx to talk about it."

"Talk about it how?" said Fumu suspiciously.

"Like... tell him I won't put up with this err... and that I've had enough."

Fumu looked surprised. "Oh. Well. Good for you, Kirby." She even offered him a consoling smile. "Do you want me to come with you?"

For a moment, Kirby could only stare, for he had not expected Fumu to believe him at all. She was so clever, and he was such a bad liar. How...?

"No thanks," he mumbled. "It's my problem, and he'll listen better if it's just me."

"Okay... I'll be in my room, though, if you want to talk to me afterwards."

He afforded her a small smile. "Thanks Fumu. You're starting to sound like a therapist though."

She flushed, then her expression turned serious. "Those bruises aren't anything to joke about. You're my friend, Kirby... I'm just worried about you."

"I'll be fine," he assured her, "trust me. This is the last time he'll do anything to hurt me."

And at this point, he did not feel as though he were lying - what began as a lie somehow morphed to form what he wanted to be the truth. Fumu's support lent him confidence and so his statement held no reservations - only pure determination. If only he maintained that determination, maybe he could confront Marx and show him the errors in his actions.

"It's about time I heard you said that," Fumu said, sounding relieved. She gave him a quick hug - careful to not hurt his back - and reiterated that she'd be in her room if he wanted to find her.

Kirby promised he would, then bid her goodbye. As his feet carried him closer to the border, his eyes fixed on Marx's house with wariness. It was much easier to be brave with Fumu beside him, but in all honesty he had fled from the broken down house only hours earlier. He still hadn't gotten any water and nausea writhed in the pit of his stomach like the multitude of maggots he'd just disposed of. His traitorous thoughts suggested he first get some water, maybe rest a little: return after he was at full strength. He clamped down on those thoughts furiously, for he knew if he let them go further he may never confront Marx.

This wasn't the sort of thing one did when they felt strong enough to do it. It was the sort of thing one did only at the moment they needed to. He stopped at the threshold of Marx's house. Knocked three times on the door. He expected the usual lengthy wait before Marx answered, and therefore was taken aback when the door almost immediately swung open. The jester stood in the frame, smirking hatefully, "Did you enjoy your gift?"

"No."

"Ouch. I put a lot of thought into that watermelon, you know. Maggots aren't always easy to come by." He sighed. "Too bad. But, if you're back, you must be done asking stupid questions, right?"

"I want to talk with you."

Marx's eyebrows lifted as he realized this wasn't customary behavior for Kirby. Without another word, he turned and vanished into the kitchen, leaving the door invitingly open.

Kirby trailed after him, but made a point of standing while Marx sat at the lopsided table.

"So," Marx said. "Talk."

"Yeah." Kirby hesitated. He hadn't exactly prepared an argument. Hadn't thought overmuch about _what_ he'd say, only that he'd say it. "You _attacked_ me this morning," he started with what Fumu had been so shocked about. "You've never done that before."

Marx looked wounded, as though he was being treated unfairly. "You pissed me off this morning. You've never asked so many needy questions before."

Kirby suspected it would be pointless to argue that the two situations were nothing alike, so he pressed on as if Marx had said nothing. "You don't see anything wrong with that?" he said desperately. "You think it's okay to get that angry at someone? My entire back is like one big bruise! It hurts like heck, and... Marx, _friends don't do that_."

Marx tapped his pointer finger on the table and surveyed Kirby as if deciding how best to answer. He finally replied, "sorry."

Kirby felt an unexpected flare of anger himself - how could Marx have such a nonchalant careless response when Kirby was genuinely trying to reason with him? "Take this seriously," he pleaded.

"I am taking this seriously! This is my serious face!" He leaned forward, placing his hands on the table, and stared bug-eyed at Kirby. "I, Marx of Dreamland, solemnly swear that I am being totally- Ffff, heh... being totally honest and hahaha, okay okay-" he covered his mouth but couldn't disguise the escaping laughter. "Gimme one more time; I can do it right."

"No! It's not about lying to me Marx - I want you to _listen_." Kirby clenched his fists, not even sure how to deal with this unfamiliar anger, and he plunged on recklessly, "If you can't, just this once, hear me out and make yourself care about what I'm saying, then I'm out. That's it. I can't... I can't keep balancing my life like this, switching from talking about - well, sea life and sunny days and books with Fumu, or even," he waved his hand emphatically, "sword lessons, and honor with Meta Knight, then going and dealing with all these questions about the outside and cannibalism, and heck - rotten watermelons, maggots. After I've been with you, do you realize how weird it is for me to go and hang out with the servants, or Fumu, or the village kids?"

Kirby took a shuddering breath. "I feel so distant from all that. And it's awful. I mean at- at least before, I never questioned Meta Knight enough to distrust him, a-and I never had any idea what was beyond the border so I just stayed in it. I don't... I don't even know what I want."

Silence. Marx stared, and Kirby found he could avert his own gaze, for he wanted to see answers in those purple irises, answers to questions he didn't even know. "Hm." Marx kicked his chair back and stood up. To Kirby's great alarm, he proceeded to climb on top of the table and walk across it. When he reached Kirby's end, he crouched eye-level to the shocked blonde. He reached out and his thumbs stroked along Kirby's cheeks. "So stop that 'balancing.' Stop living in between." He grinned twistedly. "We _could_ find out what's beyond the border... If only you were good enough to leave Dreamland. What harm would it do?"

Those simple words proved exactly what Kirby feared. Marx hadn't understood at all. He had failed to even make an attempt. He didn't care, and could not empathize.

Kirby's blue eyes, normally shining with lively naiveté, became icy disks. "Everything." Cold, firm. He grabbed Marx's wrists and shoved his hands away. Standing abruptly, he took several steps back. Fumu was right. "I'm done. You don't care."

He turned to stride away, but never got the chance. There was a loud crash behind him; a chair being thrown violently to its side, and the sound of Marx leaping off the table. Something slammed hard into the middle of Kirby's back, the force making him crash into the wall painfully. He just managed to get his hands up in time to prevent his face from slamming into the wall. Marx spun him around and pinned him against it, managing to twist one arm behind his back and hold it there. Stale breath washed over his face. His eyes burned with a level of unhinged anger he'd never witnessed before. Yes, Marx had his capricious moods and cruel tendencies. Kirby knew immediately this was different.

"You _will_ change your mind," he growled, baring his gleaming fangs. Kirby refused to be intimidated. He knew the other too well - living so close to him for so long, determined to learn about him, made it impossible not to. Marx would hurt others, but not him - he could shout, threaten, mock-strangle, and at the very worst, leave small, light bruises. No more. Marx never meant to truly physically hurt him.

"I won't," Kirby retorted. Privately, he hated how the words sounded like those of a disobedient child. To make up for this, he continued, "I have morals, Marx, even if you don't. And you know what? I'm sick of you trying to shove your ways on me."

His shoulder was beginning to ache.

Despite his early assurance, a twinge of worry skated under his bravery; a lurking fear. What if he had judged wrong? Giving up would relieve that fear and pain, he could go back to what he knew was safe, Marx would forgive him if he gave up now.

Tears leaked from his slitted eyes. Trembling, he lifted one foot and placed it against Marx's shin sideways before taking a deep breath. "No," he forced. "I'm not a pet to own and keep. I'm a person." He summoned all his strength and kicked out hard. Marx's foot slipped out from underneath him. His hands scrabbled uselessly on Kirby's shirt, then he crashed to the floor with an oddly childish yelp. Kirby squirmed away and turned to the hallway, but Marx grabbed his ankle so he too fell to the floor.

It was as if he was trying to claw his way up Kirby's leg, and more out of instinct than anything else Kirby kicked out blindly. His hands fumbled over the thin carpet, - he could see the front door only a few feet away. A particularly strong kick managed to dislodge Marx's grip. In a single second Kirby leapt to his feet and pelted toward the door - but it was just enough time for Marx to scramble up and lunge after him.

Kirby's hand struck the cold metal door knob, it twisted, the door began to open inward - then Marx crashed into him and the door went _snick_ and shut. Escape was impossible with the way he was wedged against the door.

Marx's fangs sunk deep into his skin, above his collar bone. His nails dug into his back, dragging from between his shoulder blades to his lower back. Gasping, Kirby tried to twist away, but Marx's hands snaked around and hooked around his chest.

Kirby squirmed in his grip, hissing in pain, but the movement just sharpened the pain in his shoulder. Relentless, Marx began to drag him back to the kitchen. When Kirby planted his feet to resist, he kicked his ankles and yanked him back with all the more fervor.

"Let... me... go!" he snarled.

"Not until you promise to stay," Marx snapped back with all the poison he could muster.

"You think... this will make me... want to stay?"

"It's keeping you here so far." They'd painstakingly reached the dining room table, as Marx abruptly found out when his lower back struck the wood. Growling, he struggled to change positions and pin Kirby to the table - and endeavor which Kirby was determined to avoid, because he knew once Marx got that upper hand, he'd be unable to fight back. He didn't care to wonder if that sort of deduction derived from Meta Knight's lessons or experience with Marx.

He jerked free one arm and for a brief moment thought he had gained ground - but there was moment's hesitation that enabled Marx to finally whirl around him so it was Kirby who had his back to the table instead. The hand that settled around his throat was almost familiar now - though he'd never tightened his fingers to such a chokehold before, and a single instant Kirby made the choice between being throttled or not.

With his free hand, he backhanded Marx hard across the face. It elicited the most furious, demonic hiss. The deep purple of Marx's eyes was suddenly scorching with a consuming, destructive animosity, and the inhuman glare which he directed at Kirby struck a deep inexplicable terror within him. The fingers that had slacked around his throat trembled with its intensity. His entire body trembled with it; like corporeal flesh could not contain his fury. It was only shock that prevented him from instantly lashing out. But shock would not last forever.

Kirby didn't wait around to find out what would happen next. He ripped out of Marx's clutches and pelted out into the hall, nearly crashing into the wall himself before diving at the door. He threw it open, nearly fell down the front steps, and never ceased running until he reached his own circular house and slammed his own front door behind him.

He staggered to his bathroom. From his mirror stared blue eyes marked by the dark rings under them; a strange contrast that gave his irises a hollow, pale look. He diverted his eyes - the floor was better to look at. The tiles weren't cracked, though. Hospital white and smooth. Wincing, he peeled off his shirt and let it fall to the tiled floor before half turning so his back faced the mirror. Only then did he look over his shoulder to assess the damage. Ten vicious red marks were dug into his skin from just above his shoulder blades down to his lower back, the two fiercest scratches perfectly reflecting each other: his middle fingers.

Those two were the only to draw the blood. They'd mostly closed by now, but glancing at the floor, he saw his shirt had spots of blood on it. He gingerly prodded the fresh scab and winced.

Mindlessly, his body hunted for bandages, only to realize he had none. There was no true reason, after all, to have them. Whenever before had he been truly injured? Maybe scrapes before, on the cobblestones, as a child - but Fumu's parents would take care of him then. Bruises, after meeting Marx. Nothing that needed major attention.

Fumu... he gazed out his window, looking up at the castle. He talk to her, and be honest about what had happened - entirely. Fully honest, to every detail. There was the guilt in betraying Marx's trust, but at the same time Marx had really scared him. If his physical attack was not enough, then that anger he had glimpsed before running certainly did.

Making up his mind, he pulled on another clean shirt and glanced one last time out the window - and paused.

Was that... smoke? He leaned closer, squinting. Yes - there was grey swirls rising above one of the houses... and more across the street...? He knew one thing well - where there was smoke, there would be fire.


	23. Chapter 23

**Leech**

Chapter 23

Where there was smoke there must be fire.

Started, he rushed out of his house and ran onto the main street, where he found panicked villagers running around in disarray. Several cottages were aflame; the villagers having just escaped. He ran up to the widow at the edge of town, who was clutching her face and gazing with devastation at her burning home.

"Ma'am, please calm down," Kirby said in a weak attempt to comfort her. "I'll get water, the castle servants can help too, please wait here..."

"No, you idiot!" She reeled away from his touch. "He ran to the castle, much good it'll do now!"

"He? He who?"

"Don't act like you don't know, boy - I've seen you with him, the outsider, the foreigner!

"Wh-what? Marx?"

"Yes, him!"

"Where is he now?" Kirby moaned.

"Weren't you listening? The castle - he ran to the castle!"

Kirby bolted down the cobblestone path, wind whipping across his face. The two deep scratches on his back stung, only they were the least of his concerns at the moment. A deep sense of dread had settled in the pit of his stomach like cold heavy steel, for he did know Marx perhaps better than anyone but Marx himself, and abruptly, he had realized exactly what he was doing to do.

He was going after Fumu - _he'd known_ - Kirby didn't know how or why, but Marx had known Fumu was the one who had convinced Kirby to stand up against him. Though it wasn't her fault: it was his, for bringing up that argument in the first place. But Marx would still blame her.

Kirby, his breath already coming short, sped up the slope leading away from the village.

He burst through the castle doors and looked frantically left and right as if he would get some indication of where exactly Marx had run to.

The front room was entirely empty, so Kirby automatically headed toward Fumu's room. The fastest way was through the servant's quarters, but the wide door that normally served as the entrance was alight with fire.

Before his very eyes, the top beams snapped with a deafening crack and the flame-devoured wood came crashing to the ground. Kirby leapt away from the resulting spray of sparks and reeled toward another hallway - the much smaller 'private' route fashioned specifically for the servants when delivering meals. He had very little enthusiasm for ducking into the passage in the event it should collapse on top of him, but at the moment there was no choice in the matter.

Already a throng of servants, coughing and distressed, were pouring out of the passage, their sleeves held over their faces.

Kirby squeezed into the hallway, moving against the panicked crowd though it was difficult: the terrified servants pushed and shoved to get out and the hallway was already too small for such a large number of people. At last, he pushed out and staggered into the servants corridors.

Smoke billowed out of the kitchen doors, held open by Captain Doo as he exhorted the servants to flee, but also to remain calm and not panic.

Through the doors he could hear the roar of the fire, petrified screams.

"What are you doing?" the captain roared over the tumult.

"Can I do anything to help?"

"Get your ass out of here!"

"Not yet - where is Fumu?"

"Don't you dare try to be a hero-" the captain's words cut off as he fell into throaty coughs: a dreadful deep sound. The smoke was thickening; black clouds of it belched from the kitchens, from which staggered the last servants. Captain Doo let the doors swing shut and went after them, snatching Kirby on his way.

"I have to find Fumu!" Kirby protested.

"You'll be killed," the captain argued back, dragging him by his arm.

In his desperation, Kirby almost said "he'd never kill me." He bit his tongue and instead twisted around so the captain lost his grip upon him. The next moment he was running down the corridor, past the kitchen doors and deeper into the castle where Fumu and her family lived.

As he got further from the kitchens, the smoke lessened, but soon enough it was thickening again - Marx must've set more than one fire. The other had to be coming from Fumu's apartment. The thought made him run all the more faster, but still it felt like far too long by the time he reached her hall.

He slammed the door open hard; it was too brittle, and broke entirely off its hinges. He ignored the bits of flame licking at the edges of the door frame and staggered into the room. Even holding his sleeve over his mouth couldn't keep him from breathing in the acrid smoke, and his eyes stung so that it was a struggle to not blink or close them - for doing so might waste precious seconds, and he had no time to waste.

He burst through her bedroom door, and that was where his heart shuddered in his chest and a familiar revulsion churned in his stomach.

Everything ground to a halt around him, shattered. The fire wasn't really there - it couldn't be, there really was no danger - there couldn't be. Reality simply could not be like this.

It was a nightmare; any minute he must wake. Any minute, but the minute wasn't coming soon enough.

These things didn't happen in real life - could not be true.

He'd gotten there too late.

He wasn't aware that he'd stumbled back until his heel caught on something and he nearly fell over backward. He couldn't even look down to see what it was he'd tripped on; not with eyes nailed to the bedroom wall.

Strong warm hands suddenly grasped under his shoulders. They dragged him away, and he heard the sound of glass exploding - something had been thrown the window. Then his feet left the floor, he heard wingbeats faintly against the screaming fire and he was soaring through the window, and coughing like his lungs were collapsing.

The ground outside rushed up at him, and he collapsed onto the green grass. Somehow the color was shocking, as if things were no longer supposed to be as they always were - the world looked too normal outside the castle. Too wrong.

Whoever set him outside turned, and he heard the wing beats leave, not registering why, only that he was alone and safe outside the fire. Only he wasn't sure if he wanted to be safe after knowing Fumu wasn't...

But then he heard footsteps, and didn't care until,

"Hey, hey, hey. There you are."

His voice, that brought a violent repulsion and yet displaced longing. Kirby dragged himself to his feet and clutched at the front of Marx's shirt, shuddering, weak. "Save her," he moaned, "Please, don't..."

Cold hands gripped his shoulders and violently shoved him away. Even colder words, nonetheless laced with unfitting amusement, drove glass under his skin.

"What do you think you're doing? Last I heard, you want nothing to do with me."

"F-Fumu... s-she... _please_." With no one to hold, he wrapped his arms helplessly around himself. Marx raised an eyebrow, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm sorry, I didn't understand you. Could you please repeat that?"

"There was a fire," Kirby gasped out. "She... she didn't make it out, a-and... augh... god."

"Hm, and now that something bad happened, you come crawling back to me, because you _always _need attention. No wonder people never want to be close friends with you - you're too needy."

"I...?"

"You were lucky you had me, because I accepted all that clinginess. Of course, Fumu seemed to tolerate it admirably well, but ahh... She isn't here any longer. Since you made it quite clear you don't want to be near me, good luck finding a person who will treat someone as annoying as _you_ so well."

"Sh-she was... still b-breathing-" Kirby choked, unable to finish.

"Yes, where do you think Meta Knight went? He's being the hero you couldn't be."

It was Kirby's eyes that betrayed his agony beyond even words - the way they were shining with tears, and that dullness which had settled underneath their usual bright blue appearance. Without Kirby saying anything, Marx smiled.

He slid his hand over Kirby's and let him lean against his chest. He said, "I don't believe you."

He didn't have to ask why - he couldn't muster the words, but more importantly, Marx understood anyway.

"You know it's my fault, but you're still here. Silly Kirby, that doesn't make any sense."

No reply. Marx grinned, petting down Kirby's spine. "Then you see, how this is your fault?" Kirby stiffened. His voice was muffled against Marx's shoulder.

"Wh-what?"

"Not that I mean to blame you for it, of course - you were misguided and childish. But just think: you were so determined to prove me wrong and yet here you are again. It would've been so much easier if you just accepted what I'd told you. If you'd never started such a pointless fight, I wouldn't have been upset with you, so I wouldn't have destroyed the castle. If you only had trusted me, Fumu wouldn't be dead."

Kirby let out a whimper, so wrought with pain it hardly sounded human. His fingers dug into Marx's shirt desperately. Not a single word could be mustered in reply. He didn't want to think about things like that. He didn't want to admit his guilt aloud, but knew how strongly he felt it. Sick and ravaged inside with it, and no amount of denial could relieve it. At least Marx's words were bitingly honest. At least he could trust that. He pressed himself closer, trembling, chin tilted up as his tear-blurred eyes sought comfort in the other's purple irises.

"Shh..." Marx soothed, bowing his head. "Just breathe, relax." His own breath sighed warmly over Kirby's lips.

"Get away from him!" a familiar deep voice roared.

Meta Knight stalked towards them, body shadowed by the blaze behind him and his eyes equally afire with crimson anger. Galaxia was drawn, and only a thin string of sanity seemed to hold him back from brutally killing Marx on the spot. "Back away," he commanded. Meta Knight was alone.

Kirby twisted in Marx's arms to peer at the enraged knight with his large blue eyes. Marx's grip only tightened and he pulled Kirby hard against his chest. "Make me!" he laughed hoarsely. "Or try to make him!"

Meta Knight halted silently. His building fury was only visible in the depths of his eyes and the rigidity of his stance.

"What?" Marx taunted. "Too afraid he'll choose me over you?"

"Let him go," Meta Knight growled. "If you believe he is with you on his own will, you shouldn't be afraid of letting him go."

"Well said!" Not a second passed before Marx shoved Kirby roughly away from him. The blonde nearly went sprawling to the ground, but managed to catch himself and stand between the two, shivering and exhausted.

One was a liar who always told the truth; the other was an honest man who always lied. There was no choice. Still, Kirby tried to imagine it. He tried to imagine going with Meta Knight, returning to the same return of his mindless training, and still knowing nothing. Of walking through Dreamland's streets like he had a hundred times before, of gazing at the stars or playing soccer. It all seemed like some fake illusion, but it was that illusion that had been his life. He tried to imagine it after everything that had happened, and imagine it without Fumu.

It wasn't possible. There was no choice. He couldn't even think past this single moment - as if, somehow, things just would not go on after this.

And Meta Knight had returned alone.

So he sought the only comfort he knew.

Marx's hands closed around his prize, pulled him close. Before Kirby knew what was happening, his chin was forced up and he felt Marx's rough tongue press against his collar bone, slide leisurely up his neck, then leave with a flick under his jaw. His eyes danced over Kirby's head and peered at Meta Knight in such a way that the warrior didn't have to see his wicked smile to know it was there. That smile that clearly stated,

"I win, I win!" as though human life, death, and suffering were nothing more than a fun little game. Checkmate, I've got the king you were supposed to protect.

Fury was understatement - Meta Knight felt this, but also a cold, hard sort of understanding, of where he had failed and where he had been helpless all along. That Kirby truly had chosen Marx over him, and no amount of persuading or convincing, threatening or screaming, could change his mind or reverse the terrible moment unfolding before him. No; he acknowledged his helplessness this time, to salvage Kirby's loyalty, to salvage his very own being.

The crimson faded from his eyes, replaced by the usual yellow color. Marx hesitated, confusion causing his expression to falter. As expected: he was accustomed to people reacting to him in exactly the way he predicted. For he was beyond good at predicting them, and knew exactly how to produce a desired reaction.

As long as there was that reaction, he held his power - this Meta Knight realized. But this time, by assuming the knight would be too angry to think logically... he was determined to prove him wrong.

"What is it?" Marx uttered. His grip on Kirby loosened and he raised his head anxiously.

"You won," Meta Knight said, bowing his head. _Though this is no game._

"Yes... yes I did." Thrown off, unsure.

Slowly, with his heart burning in rage and indignation, Meta Knight fell to his knees.

"What are you doing?" Marx hissed, now holding Kirby tightly as though Meta Knight would magically whisk him away. "Stop it."

"I am doing nothing but giving up, Marx." The name was like poison - but he liked hearing it, didn't he? The knight pressed on, "I can hardly believe it... I, bested by you?"

"No, stop." Marx began to pant frantically. "Stop it, stop - you don't give up! This is mine, my victory, _you_!" Dragging Kirby with him, he backed away.

It wasn't working. Meta Knight inwardly swore at himself, mind scrabbling to recall anything he knew about Marx that would help him, while still maintaining his defeated facade. "I tried so hard," he forced out. "I thought there was not the slightest possibility Kirby would believe your lies... I underestimated his doubts. I did not see my own failures." This was true, feeding his verisimilitude. Also feeding his guilt and sense of hopelessness. It wasn't just getting close to the truth - it was the truth, and he was treading a fine line...

But Marx had stopped backing up.

Meta Knight cast aside his sword, held his hands wrist-upward in front of his face.

"If these are my final words, then so be it. Kirby, there is no excuse for my failures. I never realized you looked at me like a father. I too saw you as my son... yet I never showed you that affection. My only hope is that you find your way out of _his_clutches, and return to the path of your destiny."

And Meta Knight closed his eyes. For a brief moment in that darkness, he wished those words would be his final ones. Perhaps the most honorable death he could achieve, had it not been for his blatantly obvious surrender. Then he heard Kirby sniffle and he regretted that moment with vehement hate.

It was silent after this, broken only by Kirby's weeping and the distant crackling of fire. Whether a good or bad silence, he could not determine. At long last, the jester spoke. The insane, excited tone caused Meta Knight's heart to clench in a mixture of triumph and trepidation.

"That's right, MK._ You failed. _And I assure you, he'll never get free until I'm good and done with him." He cackled cruelly. "Oh it is kind of you, though, to offer up your life like this - if not pointless."

Meta Knight lowered his head further.

"Although... you might have more worth alive. Hehehe, don't you agree, Kirby?"

No reply. A slight scuffling, then Kirby yelping out in pain.

Sugary sweet, "Don't you agree, Kirby?"

"Y-yes."

"See? It's quite boring for you to give up like this. It's much more fun to torture you when you actually care about Kirby's life."

"I do care about him," hissed Meta Knight. He hadn't meant to talk, though it ended up helping him. Footsteps sauntered toward him. Only one pair: he'd left Kirby behind.

"How sweet, saying you still care." He 'tsked.' Cold fingers touched under Meta Knight's chin, coaxing his head up. He had to fight down the overwhelming urge to jerk away, and instead obeyed the other's encouraging. "Yes, very cute MK - but it's obvious to all of us you have never cared enough. Don't lie to yourself. You knew Kirby wasn't feeling well; that he was lonely and sad. Like a child, seeking only its indifferent parent's attention. Oh, you knew - you know - but you never acted, did you? ... Look at me."

Lies could be seen in one's gaze. Meta knight hesitated, then complied. There was far too much mirth in Marx's eyes. Too strong a sense of superiority. Meta Knight had to remind himself that, strictly in this situation, such an emotion was necessary.

"How does it feel, then, Sir Meta Knight? Knowing you were able to prevent this all along, but you never did?"

His teeth ground together. He muttered unintelligibly, "It felt like this."

"Sorry, didn't catch that." Smirking, he leaned closer.

Loudly, "It felt like _this!"_ Meta Knight whipped out the dagger strapped on his waist, and with one powerful upward heave, he dug the blade under Marx's ribs to the hilt. In the strike he invested all his anger, all his guilt, all his hatred and hopelessness.

Blood streamed down his trembling hands, proof that it was true - he was really hurting him, and the warm crimson liquid urged him to not let go.

Marx let out an inhuman choking sound. His hands came down heavy on Meta Knight's shoulders in an attempt to hold up his own weight, for his legs buckled. Whether his weakness was induced more by his shock or by the physical injury itself, Meta Knight didn't wait to find out. He yanked the dagger out, accompanied by the sound of ripping flesh and splashing blood, and readied it to stab again. The jester abruptly grabbed his wrist. Meta Knight looked up in time to see his manic grin. Then Marx kneed him hard into his stomach.

The knight recoiled with a sharp gasp, but could not move fast enough to get up from his kneeling position to obtain a proper fighting stance.

Marx wrested the dagger from his grip, and like dominoes falling, blows rained upon the warrior, one after another. They were quick slashes of silver, none as deep as his own wound but effective in their own right. With a careless regard for his own life, Marx lashed at Meta Knight's chest, stomach - arms and hands when Meta Knight raised them to try to fight back and protect himself. It was everything disadvantageous to Meta Knight - Marx fought as though he was already going to die, and was equally likely to use his teeth or kick as he was to use the dagger. Meta Knight fought with self-preservation in mind, and he was unused to hand to hand combat.

Thus, Marx's short attack ceased with no extra injury to himself, and Meta Knight marked by several shallow cuts.

"Fuck you," Marx snarled and staggered away, still clutching the dripping dagger. He turned to a very stricken Kirby and snapped, "What are you waiting for, an escort? Run, you idiot! Get to the ship - the one we found!"

"Don't kill him too," moaned Kirby.

Marx brandished the knife wildly. "I'll kill you if you don't run. Go!"

Kirby took off as commanded and Marx glanced back hatefully. Meta Knight was rising to his feet. Wounded, but now wielding Galaxia. His long cape, for so long hiding something much different, ripped straight in the middle like paper. Each half twisted, then spread out and unfurled into a pair of enormous, threatening-looking bat-like wings.

Marx didn't wait around to see what would happen next. He bolted after Kirby, roaring at the distressed blonde to run faster and holding his bleeding side desperately.

They made it halfway to the fountain before a huge sword beam coming from above carved its way across the earth directly to their left. Meta Knight had missed - albeit barely. Though he never missed. He didn't want to hit Kirby, but since they ran so close, it would too challenging to hit one and not the other.

Realizing this, Marx grabbed Kirby's hand with his free one. There was the sound of wings in the wind overhead, dropping lower, lower. Meta Knight struck ground directly behind Marx, then grabbed and yanked back on his collar, bringing the jester to a halt by nearly throttling him. Marx arced his back and squirmed like a trapped animal, though his injury rendered his thrashing too weak to escape. Meta Knight lifted his sword. Ready to end his existence, liberate his student.

A fist smashed into his face. Meta Knight jerked back, releasing Marx. He found himself staring into none other than Kirby's cerulean eyes. They looked almost as shocked as he felt, and unsure if saving Marx by attacking his old mentor was what he truly should've done. Deciding for him, Marx grabbed his hand again and wrenched him away. Meta Knight watched as the two opened the secret passage and fled down the stairs.


	24. Chapter 24

**Leech**

Chapter 24

As soon as they were swallowed by the underground passage, Marx released his hand and shoved him fiercely down the stairs. The shove was so unexpected that Kirby would've fallen had his hand not shot out and latched onto the handrail. His legs twisted under him and he leaned heavily against the rail, dazedly trying to reorient himself. Everything had been moving too quickly since he'd raced toward the fire.

"Move!" Marx snarled behind him, and heaved up on Kirby's collar as if to drag him off the wall. His words were venomous but lacked the usual strength, his efforts to drag Kirby determined, but ineffective. He was hurt - badly.

Kirby rightened himself on his own and took the stairs several at a time in order to stay ahead in the half-darkness. Soon the stairwell flattened out to the hanger: the Halberd reared up before Kirby, immense, unfeeling. He spent no time admiring its craftsmanship this time around, only ran faster toward the door at Marx's urging.

Without even thinking, he flipped the keyboard by the ship's door and typed in the code. Marx panted and swore behind. Kirby didn't dare look his way, not yet. The enormous metal door slid up, he didn't move fast enough so Marx shoved him again. Scrambling onto the ship, he flattened himself to the far wall to give the other room.

The door closed again after Marx lurched in.

Already his hand was coated with the dark cherry color, it having seeped past his fingers and stained his shirt. His face was unnaturally pale, though he looked all the more fierce for it with his darker eyes glaring.

Kirby stammered, "D-do you need bandages, or-?"

"Anything, find _something."_

He rushed to the first aide room and promptly raided it, opening and closing drawers, knocking over jars and searching cabinets. Hastily he grabbed a roll of gauze and bandages, and an bottle of pills that he couldn't take the time to look at the label for. During his searching, he heard the five engines roar to life, and felt the floor vibrate beneath his feet. Marx was starting the ship already. He hurried back to the control deck, where he just see Marx's hat above the captain's seat.

Kirby knelt by his side and hurriedly wrapped the bandages around Marx's side to the best of the ability. Marx made it no easier for him, for he was focused on one task and one task alone, ignoring Kirby's assistance.

As Kirby fumbled with the bandages, the jets on the bottom of the Halberd kicked it and took them high into the air. Muttering to himself as he figured out the controls, Marx swung the ship in an arc in the air.

"It's fine," he snapped at Kirby, waving impatiently in front of his face.

The ship pulled even to the castle. Its facade was framed perfectly in the windshield. A foreboding whirring announced that the guns were training themselves upon the castle.

Instantly Kirby realized what it was he was about to do, and he thoughtlessly grabbed Marx's wrist, his blue eyes pleading and full of devastation. "Don't," he begged. "Please."

Marx paused with his hand hovering over the button that would wreak destruction over Dreamland. His eyes were cold purple slits as they gazed at Kirby's hand on his wrist, then curved up to meet Kirby's eyes.

"Not this too," Kirby added, his voice sounding so ruined even to his own ears, his argument so weak - but still he had to try.

Marx yanked his arm free and pushed Kirby away - and for one dreadful moment Kirby thought he was going to do it anyway. But then the guns whirred again; they retracted. Marx fiddled with the controls and the Halberd silently arced away. Its nose tilted toward the horizon and peacefully departed from Dreamland.

Kirby watched in a small corner of the projected display as Dreamland retreated behind them, falling away as though it were moving instead of them. The furthest he'd ever been from the town. Only the second time he'd ever left. Giddy chuckling would periodically reach his ears. It made the tight, nervous feeling in his stomach worsen. His fingers knotted together anxiously.

The tension became to stifling, and Kirby resolved that he must try. With his gaze diverted, he padded to the other's side. The jester hardly noticed, scanning the dials on the ship and commending his victory to himself.

"Marx?"

"Heh, 'splode, little _cute_," he waved his hand dismissively at Kirby. "Nn, is there any candy on this ship? Cake? Blood loss makes me shaky, I guess."

"N-no, I need to ask you something."

"Eh? Yeah, anything..." he didn't even look at Kirby. "He sure does build good warships, right? Ooo, looky here." He fell back into incoherent muttering.

"Why did you... I mean, why..." he swallowed, "Why did you bring me?"

"Who else is gonna bake me a cake?" cackled Marx.

"Oh." That tense, unpleasant feeling in his chest got tighter. He shouldn't be here, not beside the very person who should be his enemy. The person who... He really shouldn't be here at all. "Is that really... the only reason?" his voice tapered off into a squeak.

Something in his tone at last caught the unsympathetic other's attention. Enough dissatisfaction for him to turn in the chair and survey Kirby. Something really wrong? It was difficult to tell if his concern was because he hadn't expected Kirby to protest, or because he'd expected it and was now ready to offer his usual solace.

"Do you think it is?" he said bluntly.

Kirby winced beneath that look which seemed so harsh. "I don't know... I honestly don't know. I don't know why you do what you do."

"Hrm." Dismissively, at first. Marx looked slightly confused, before his mask of devilry returned. "Do you think I don't like you? That you're only here because it's amusing for the time being?"

Not a good idea to directly respond. Shouldn't displease him now; but it was all too much to come up with lies. Excuses were beyond his reach now, and maybe he should just be honest, because he couldn't do this... Couldn't keep pretending it was all perfect. "I think I don't really know you at all..."

"No?" he feigned surprise - it was still his game, and he still could maintain it. "We've been friends for months now. Shouldn't you know me?"

"I just... I don't think I can deal with this right now," Kirby confessed.

"Deal with what?" Cheshire grin.

Kirby shivered. "Any of this. You keep asking questions and you know the answers; it's like you're testing me, and I never know if you actually feel anything beneath that." He tried to stay at least slightly composed to answer the questions, but his sentence fell apart towards the end and he choked back another sob (no, don't think about it, don't cry - it'll only make your head hurt worse). "Fumu c-cared... but y-you... There's nothing l-left - you don't care."

Distantly, he felt Marx grab his wrist and pull him down to sit in front of him on the chair.

'Kirby," he purred, "Surely you don't really think that?" His long fingers drummed lightly on his shoulders before settling into a slow massage. "This is for you... because I care about you. You always talked about how much you wanted to explore beyond the borders, how much you longed to discover who you where and where you came from. These attachments - they always held you back, but now is your chance. You're free to go wherever you like: give a direction, and I'll go there."

Kirby shuddered. He'd never wanted it at this cost; everything was skewed and turned on its head. He shouldn't be leaving Dreamland - shouldn't have allowed Marx to do what he did. His eyes curved down to the glow of the computer screens. One small square showed Dreamland falling further and further from them, being just a blackened, ravaged landscape, and suddenly he felt so small himself, insignificant in the glare of some grand scheme. They just plunged further into the sky; into that deep blueness, with fluffy white clouds soaring past the windshield. The scene more perfect than a painting, blurred, the white mixing in the blue so he could make no sense of the shapes, and it took him a moment to realize he was crying again.

He felt Marx sigh deeply, exhausted by the excitement of the day and his injury. His arms slipped around Kirby's chest, tightening; a cage. He lied with familiar ease, betrayed only subtly by the tired mirth in his voice,

"This is all for you, Hero of Dreamland."


End file.
